The Island
by Harold3456
Summary: Shipwrecked while attempting to infiltrate an island base, the RED team has a new objective - survival. Constructive criticism welcomed. Spoilers in comments.
1. Stranded

_This is basically a project I'm doing, to try and capture the personalities of all the characters of TF2 by stripping them of their high-tech weapons and putting them in a survival situation. Also, I don't normally like writing accents, but wanted to give the reader a taste of who was speaking without constantly identifying them. I promise more action in later chapters, for now I'm just setting the stage. Please review. If you like, then I'll upload another chapter._

"Is he alive?" A voice asked, right above Tony's head.

"Ze Scout is breathing, dumkopf." The unmistakeable voice of the Medic replied. "Of course he is alive. Ze question is whether or not he is going to wake up."

The other man huffed. "Well, what are we to do now?" It was the Engineer. Tony opened one heavy eyelid the tiniest bit, and was immediately overloaded with blinding images. He opened the other eye, squinting in the bright light.

He was outside, that much was certain. He could feel sand beneath him; he was lying on the ground, perhaps on a beach. He could hear seagulls in the distance and, nearby, waves lapping against the shore.

"Vell, ve haf two choices." The Medic replied, "Vait for zem to come to, or find some civilization."

"My vote's on the second one!" A gruff voice piped up – the Soldier. "Fortunes of war, maggots! Some are lucky, while others. . . aren't."

"We can't just leave them for dead! Have some bloody compassion!" This voice belonged to the Sniper.

"In ze Medical field, zhere is no room for compassion."

"Look, he's coming to."

Tony had opened his eyes, having slightly adjusted to the surrounding brightness, and propped himself into a sitting position. He saw his four comrades standing over him – the Medic, holding his bone saw, the Soldier with his shotgun, the Engineer, sitting on his toolbox with his wrench on his shoulder, and the Sniper, apparently unarmed.

"Willkommen to ze land of ze living." The Medic said.

"Thanks," Tony, better known as the Scout, replied. He looked around at their surroundings. They were on a beach, with sand stretching to the left and right. Behind him was a vast ocean, and there was a forest a couple hundred yards ahead of him. He could see boxes, uniforms, and other various flotsam on the beach, and immediately it was clear to him that they had shipwrecked.

He was startled by a groan, immediately to his right. He stepped away from the source of the sound; a one-eyed man wearing an eye-patch. The Demoman.

"Bloody 'ell." The Scotsman muttered, rubbing his head with his hand. "I'll never drink again." He looked up at the five men surrounding him, and then his eyes suddenly widened, as he took in the island scenery around them. "Whot in the..."

"Ship crashed, mate." The Sniper replied, holding out a hand. The Demoman took it, and the Sniper pulled him to his feet. The Sniper then pointed out to the water. The Demo and the Scout turned around. About four hundred yards out, a small transport boat was gnarled up on some rocks.

"It was that storm, last night!" The Engineer explained. "I couldn't control the ship..."

"Everybody was unconscious," The Sniper added. "We... tried to save as many as we could."

The Scout and the Demoman looked around. The Heavy lay nearby, propped up against a large rock. Sasha rested beside him. The Scout turned to the Medic. "Is he...?"

"Not quite." The Medic replied. "If only I had my Medigun..."

The Demoman started walking toward a nearby, wooden crate. With a loud cry, he kicked it. The crate shattered, revealing his grenade launcher. He picked it up, and immediately started loading grenades from his belt.

"Where in th' hell are we?" He asked.

"We don't know," The Engineer replied. "I tried to catch some radio transmissions from Spectre," he gestured to a small, homemade radio that rested on a nearby crate. "But didn't get anything, which means the storm must've blown us off course."

"How far off course?" The Scout asked. "We're still on the right island, right? I-I mean, we aren't stuck in the middle of nowhere. . ."

"That's what we want to find out," The Engineer replied. "We need to know what to do with our large friend, however."

"We were hoping that it was him who came back to life, and you who stayed down – no offense." The Sniper told the Scout. "At least you'd be easier to transport."

The Engineer took off his hard hat, and wiped his bald head. The heat was scorching. "One way or another, we have to find some food, and some shelter. I doubt we're going to come across any hotels around here."

The Soldier had crossed the beach, walking toward the forest. He was stopped in front of the trees, staring ahead. The Sniper, breaking off from the others, moved to join him.

"What're you thinking?" He whispered to the large American.

"I think we have a team of sissy maggots." The Soldier replied, less quietly. "You and me know the wilderness – we know nature. I don't want to leave the group, but I also don't want to die of heat stroke on some god forsaken beach. I say we head inland. If they want to follow, so be it. Otherwise, they can starve."

The Sniper glanced back at the others – Two urbanized Americans, a doctor and a drunkard Scot. The Scout still had his weapons strapped to him, and the Demoman had his grenade launcher, but the other two were almost completely unarmed.

"We can't leave the Heavy," The Sniper whispered. "He's saved us many times in the past."

"If he dies, he dies." The Soldier replied. "If he comes to... he can survive in the wild. He has a better chance than all of those other maggots combined! Former Red Army, well-armed, with a killer's head on his shoulders. He's a survivor."

"We've already lost two men." The Sniper muttered, shaking his head. "We don't even know what's out there. It's not just the wilderness I'm afraid of. This whole Spectre business has unnerved me from the start. We were planning on infiltrating a nearly airtight scientific facility, a challenging enough task back when we were a full unit. Now the Pyro and the Spy are dead – need I remind you that the Spy was instrumental for our entry – and our most powerful weapons have been lost!"

The Soldier mulled over this information for a minute.

"I'm waiting for the Heavy," The Sniper said. "At least until tomorrow morning. We're going to need everything we have, so I suggest you stay as well." With that, the Sniper turned to join the crowd. The Engineer was still sitting, while the Scout was lying in the sand, his hat covering his face. The Medic was crouched over the Heavy, and the Demo was knee deep in the water, apparently relieving himself.

"What's the verdict?" The Engineer asked, gesturing over to the Soldier.

"He wants to go," The Sniper replied.

"Big surprise," The Scout mumbled from under his cap. "He was gonna leave me for dead a few minutes ago!"

"He's never believed in making friends," The Engineer said with a nod.

"He perceives himself as a woodsman," The Sniper muttered, sitting down on a crate near the others. "Bloody Yank wouldn't know a tree if it was falling on him – no offense."

The Engineer shrugged. "I'd have to agree with you. The man's a legend... in his own mind. I doubt he could last a day in the forest. You, on the other hand..."

"I've spent my entire life in the Outback," The Sniper admitted. "I still have my Kukri. I could fashion a bow and some arrows, if I had to. Soldier believes that Spectre's on this island, though."

"I haven't gotten any radio signals!" The Engineer protested.

"Just because zhere are no signals," The Medic piped up from behind them, startling all three men, "Doesn't mean zhere is no base. Dead men can't send signals out." He turned, and went back to the Heavy. The cryptic message gave the other three men chills.

The Demoman returned to the beach. "It's gettin' late, lads!" He exclaimed. "Does anyone have anything to eat?"

"He's right," The Scout replied, rising to a sitting position. "I'm starving!"

"I'll find a sharp stick," The Sniper said, "and spear us some fish. Engi, Scout, gather some firewood. These crates are probably too wet to do us any good."

Everybody snapped to action as the sun slowly receded. The Sniper waded into the ocean, up to his waist, spear in hand. Behind him, the Scout, Engineer and Demoman were bent over a stack of firewood.

"I wish the Pyro were here," The Scout grumbled, as the Engineer tried to ignite some soggy matches. "He could get this fire going in no time!"

"He'd have this god damn forest up in no time, too!" The Engineer grumbled. "That man is a stark raving lunatic!"

The Demoman looked up from his work, glancing at the Sniper. The Aussie plunged his spear into the ocean, pulling out a fish barely larger than a sardine. He grunted in frustration.

The Demoman waded into the water beside the Sniper, as the latter stabbed into the water once again. "Blast!" The Sniper cursed, pulling his spear back out of the water. "Bloody, drunken Scot!" He cursed, "You're scaring all the fish away!"

The Demoman glanced over at the Sniper, and then raised his grenade launcher and fired. The red grenade flew out of the weapon, skipping once on the water, before sinking below the waves. The Demoman grabbed the Sniper by the shoulder, forcefully turning him away from the grenade.

There was a muffled explosion, and water spewed out into the air in a massive spout. "YAH, THAT'S THE WAY YA DO IT!" The Demoman cheered triumphantly, as fish parts surfaced all around the pair. The Sniper reached out, grabbing the disembodied tailfin of a fish. "I suppose you want us to eat around the shrapnel, you blundering idiot?"

The Demoman reached into his belt, pulling out a half-empty whiskey bottle. He raised it in a toast, and then took a swill. The Sniper sighed, and walked further down the coast, to fish undisturbed.

Two hours later, all six of them were sitting around a small campfire.

"This is a disgrace!" The Soldier said as he gnawed on the tattered remains of a fish. "I've eaten war rations bigger than this!"

"Thank your lucky stars zat our obese friend isn't awake yet!" The Medic added, glaring at the Sniper and Demoman. "Or it would have been you roasting on zat fire!" He gestured to the flames, and the scant offering of food upon them.

"I believe that this is the least of our problems right now." The Engineer replied, taking off his hard hat and rubbing his forehead. He glanced back at the Heavy, who still lay propped up on the rock behind them. "We can't just stay here forever, and wait for him to wake up."

"That's what I like to hear!" The Soldier piped up. "Action! We need to get moving!"

"And what if this island's deserted?" The Scout asked.

"The question you should be asking, boy," The Engineer replied, replacing the hardhat on his head. "Is 'what do we do if it isn't'? We aren't in friendly territory, in case you've forgotten."

"Quite the contrary, mate." The Sniper added. "Spectre is one of the most well-guarded technological facilities there are. The experiments that they carry out there are both fantastic, and horrifying, to say the least."

"But it's our job to get that Intelligence!" The Soldier stated, pounding his fist into his palm. "And whether or not Spectre is on this rock, we will find it!"

The Scout gaped. "Wait a sec... you aren't seriously planning on falling through with this mission, are you?"

"Come tomorrow morning, I'm heading inland." The Soldier replied. "If any of you maggots had half a brain, you'd follow." He rose to his feet, grabbing his shotgun. "Any who refuse will be reported to our superiors, declared traitors, and hunted down like dogs! Good night!" With that, the Soldier stepped into the darkness surrounding the fire. The Sniper squinted into the darkness, watching the man as he found a place to sleep amongst the debris from the ship.

"I say we follow him." The Engineer said to the others.

"_Vhat?_ Have you no compassion?" The Medic cried, gesturing to the Heavy.

"Who're you to talk to me about compassion, boy?" The Engineer demanded. "I've seen you disembowel, dismember and disfigure more living people in any given week than my sentries kill in a month!"

"Zat is of no consequence," The Medic replied with a glare. "Zat man over there has saved my life more times zen I care to think about!"

"Bah!" The Engineer scoffed, trudging away from the fire.

"That's all on your head, mate." The Sniper told the Medic. "I can't just sit on my hump day in and day out, hoping for something to happen before I starve to death." With that, the Sniper rose, and walked over to his own sleeping area, a soft mat of grass where he had lay down leafs and bamboo shoots. He put his hat over his head, and didn't make another sound.

"I 'gree!" The Demoman slurred, overturning a bottle of whiskey and watching as nothing dripped out. "Ah'm empty! How'm I supposed to work sober?" He rose, and left.

"Vhat about you, child?" The Medic demanded, turning his sights on the Scout. The boy glanced uncomfortably at the fire, and then back at the Medic. His stomach rumbled audibly. He hung his head, and got up from the fire.

"Bah! Schweine!" The Medic called to anyone who would listen, ignoring his hunger pangs as he stared at the fire, and thought about his situation.


	2. Moving Inland

_I had rewritten this portion of Ch1 to coincide with things said earlier by the Medic, but I didn't save before uploading the story before, so here is my revised Scout/Medic interaction. Also, to clarify, Spectre doesn't come from any other media. I heard the name in Big Fish, and thought it would be a good name of a mysterious fortress. In the canon of this story, Spectre is a mysterious company, similar to RED and BLU. At this point in the story, you don't need to know any more than the characters have stated. Thank you for the reviews and critiques, they really push me to continue this story (my first multi-chapter story on the site). By the way, is there any way to upload a document without getting rid of all the indents?  
_

"Vhat about you, child?" The Medic demanded, turning his sights on the Scout. The boy glanced uncomfortably at the fire, and then back at the Medic. Finally, he glared. "I thought that 'in the medical field, there was no room for compassion.' " He spat, and walked away.

"Bah! Schweine!" The Medic called to anyone who would listen, ignoring his hunger pangs as he stared at the fire, and thought about his situation.

The Scout was violently awoken to a swift kick in the ribs. He groaned, opening his eyes, and was immediately blinded by the hot sunlight beating down on him.

"Wake up, son." The Engineer ordered. "Soldier's moving out."

The Scout rose stiffly to a seated position, collecting his weapons. "What time is it?"

"Damned if I know."

"Judging by the sun, I'd say 7 AM." The Sniper replied from where he lay beside Scout. His voice was muffled by the hat covering his face.

The Engineer clasped the Scout's outstretched hand, and pulled him to his feet. "I didn't even know you were awake," He said to the Sniper.

"I'm awake, all right." The Sniper replied, lifting his hat off his face and rising to a seated position. "Got up at dawn, and crafted those," He gestured to a bow, and a simple quiver of arrows.

The Scout zipped up the ball bag slung over his shoulder, which contained his aluminum bat. He then proceeded to count the shells in his shotgun, and check the magazines for his pistol. He was always equipped lightly, and had only four magazines at his disposal. Likewise, he carried only a few cases of shells.

The Demoman was sitting with his back to the forest. He was loading a grenade into his launcher, replacing the one that he had used to kill the previous night's dinner. Nearby, the Medic was still crouched next to the Heavy. He had shucked off his lab coat, which he had been using as a pillow the previous night.

The Soldier emerged from the forest, shotgun in hand, shoving rudely past the Demoman. The latter grumbled something begrudgingly as he snapped the wheel of the grenade launcher shut.

"Good morning, MAGGOTS!" He shouted. "Are you ladies ready to move out?"

The Engineer picked up his toolkit as everyone else gathered their things. He looked over at the Medic. "You sure you don't want to reconsider staying behind, Doc?"

"Go," The Medic replied coldly. "But, vhen your hour is darkest, ve von't be there to save you."

The Engineer shuddered under the Medic's withering glare. Regaining his composure, he rested his wrench on his right shoulder. The others had fallen into single file, and were heading into the woods. All of them, with the exception of the Soldier, averted their gaze from the Medic as they walked past.

The jungle was hot, and the air was damp and humid on their skin.

"It's bloody hot!" The Demoman lamented. The Scout voiced his agreement.

"This is nothin', mates." The Sniper replied. "Back home, the sun was liable to kill you if you didn't hydrate at least once every hour!"

"Complaining is for sissy maggots!" The Soldier called back from his position at the front of the line, although in his trench coat he was surely the hottest of them all. The Sniper, behind him, fell quiet.

The Scout, who was third in file, piped up, "Yo, Snipes, what'd you do in the Outback, before you joined RED?"

"Big game huntin', mate." The Sniper replied. "I would spend days on the desert, with nothing but my pack, my rifle, and the clothes on my back, in heat that would make the Dustbowl look like a winter vacation!"

"Huh," The Scout mused, falling silent for a minute.

"How did you come around to becoming an assassin?" The Engineer asked.

The Sniper turned his head, and the Engineer met his eyes through his shades. "I could tell you it was all for the money, mate, but that would be a lie. It's the _challenge_ that drew me in. There is no feeling better than that of outsmarting a dangerous quarry, and there is no target more dangerous, more _unpredictable_, than a human being."

The Scout visibly shuddered at this. The Sniper turned back around. "I remember my first kill – everybody does. It was an American businessman, on a hunting trip in the badlands of Australia. He'd ticked off the wrong people, and his head was going for a generous price – not a bad wage for a first-time killer. He was chasing a herd of Wildebeest in a Jeep, and I was following him in my van, keeping out of sight at all times, throwing a tarp over my rig every night so he wouldn't see the reflection. One night, he stopped down in a valley, beneath a high hill – it was the perfect opportunity. After six days of pursuit, I unpacked my sniper rifle and got him in my sights and... BOOM!" The Sniper punched his right fist into his left hand. "Headshot."

They walked in silence for awhile, as everyone mulled over their own thoughts. The Sniper quickened his pace, so that he was standing beside the Soldier.

"What do you want?" The Soldier demanded, not breaking his pace.

"I was just making sure you know where we're going," The Sniper whispered. "I'd wager we've been walking for about a half hour, in a straight line, with no visible rhyme or reason as to why we are doing so."

"What are you saying, maggot?" The Soldier asked, almost at a shouting level. The Sniper stopped, suddenly, causing everybody else in the line to stop, including the Soldier.

"Be right back." The Sniper told everybody, leaning his bow against a large, tall tree, and then proceeding to climb the tree. The other four mercenaries gathered together in a cluster beneath the base of the enormous trunk, watching him as he nimbly shimmied up the branches.

It took only minutes for the Sniper to reach the top. "WE SHOULD BE TRAVELLING IN THAT DIRECTION!" He called down to the others, pointing about sixty degrees to the right. "I SEE SOME KIND OF A CLEARING OVER THERE! IT COULD BE SOME FORM OF CIVILIZATION!"

The Sniper shimmied back down the tree, and the group started walking again, in silence. They walked for about fifteen minutes. Then the Scout asked, "What about you, Demoman?"

"I'm too sober for this," The Demo grumbled.

Four hours passed. The Scout was trudging along, utterly exhausted, in a semi-conscious daze. He had taken his shirt off, and put it in his bag. The Demoman was grumbling, his grenade launcher nearly dragging on the ground. The Engineer was shuffling his feet. He, too, had taken off his red shirt, so that he only wore a sweat-stained undershirt. He had removed his hardhat, as well. Both of these items were inside his tool box. His arm felt like it was going to fall off.

For the second time since they started, the Sniper quickened his pace. "We need to stop." He said to the Soldier. "The others are getting tired!"

"Tell them to stop being sissy ladies!" The Soldier shouted. "I'd rather storm Spectre alone than with a bunch of females!"

"Look, mate, it's hot, it's humid, and some of these boys are going to die of heat stroke if we don't take a break!"

The Soldier didn't reply, or break pace. The Sniper, on the other hand, stopped in his tracks. "Go ahead if you want to, wanker! We'll be here if you decide to come to your senses!"

The Soldier disappeared into the bushes.

"We... we aren't walking anymore?" The Scout panted.

The Engineer dropped the toolbox on the ground, and then collapsed against a tree trunk. "Whew!" He breathed, rubbing his head with his gloved hand.

The Scout let out a loud sigh as he fell on his back in the dirt. The Demoman leaned against a tree, dropping his grenade launcher beside him. The Sniper looked around at all of them, and then sat down on a fallen tree trunk.

The Demoman was panting heavily, gasping for breath. "I'll give that... bloody windbag... _ten_ minutes... before he comes back!"

"Five." The Engineer replied with a heave. "No more than five."

"That man's a bloody robot!" The Sniper said to them. "He'll walk until the sun fries his brains, and even then he will keep moving." He snorted. "Too bad that man doesn't know a damn thing about stellar navigation – or any other kind of navigation, for that matter."

"I hate that bloody man!" The Demoman muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"I heard you guys have some history," The Engineer replied. "Weren't you two good friends at one point?"

"Yar, we were." The Demoman nodded, pulling a whiskey bottle filled with water from his belt, and taking a swill. He blanched at the taste. "Until that bloody traitor sold me out and tried to kill me for a pair of goddamn boots!"

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

All four men immediately turned to the sound of the Soldier's frantic cry. The Sniper pulled his kukri out, and charged into the bushes. The Engineer and Scout locked eyes, and then both men jumped to their feet and ran blindly after him. The Demoman cursed, dropping his bottle and picking up his grenade launcher, and then followed.

He blundered through the trees, trying not to lose sight of the others. Since the Sniper was too far ahead, and both the Engi and the Scout had taken their shirts off, there were no distinctive red uniforms to identify the people in front of him. He merely ran, blindly, while trees whipped at his face, and he stumbled over roots.

Just when he thought he had lost the others, the Demoman burst out of the bushes and into a clearing. He stumbled, and pinwheeled his arms as he tried to regain his balance. He pushed through the Engineer and the Scout, but neither of them seemed to notice. By the time he regained his balance, he was right between the Sniper and the Soldier. He looked at both of them. They were gaping, awestruck, at something in front of them.

"Wot the bloody 'ell are you looking..." The Demoman turned his head forward. "... at." They were standing in front of a massive, downed plane, or rather the front half of one.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph." The Engineer could be heard saying.

The Engineer walked around the perimeter of the plane, reading the writing on the side. "-League United." He read the broken logo aloud. "This is a BLU plane!" He whirled around to face the other three. "How the hell did they know about this place?"

"Looks like they had as much luck as we did." The Sniper muttered, walking up to a bloody corpse that was lying beneath the plane's one remaining wing. It was clearly the body of a Soldier, although the head was smashed to a pulp under his helmet.

"We got a survivor, here!" The Scout called, and the other four turned to face him. His previous fatigue forgotten, he was climbing into the plane, which was on a sideways angle as it leaned on its one wing. He used the chair backs to keep himself upright.

The lone survivor sat in the cockpit, his back up against the control panel. He was wearing a loose, blue shirt, and a baseball cap. An earphone and headset lay on the ground beside him. He was a BLU Scout.

Tony, the RED Scout, knelt down next to this man. Both Scouts were the same age, and looked similar. The BLU Scout was probably out of his neighbourhood.

"Water," BLU Scout croaked.

"Sorry, bruddah, I don't have any." Tony replied. "What the hell happened here?"

"There were... three survivors." BLU Scout croaked. "Me, and... and hardhat, and... and the shapeshifter. Hardhat said it was a missile that took us down... surface to air. Spy said... He said he'd go find some help... that freakin' traitor! That was three days ago!" The Scout spat, and blood came out. He coughed.

Suddenly, the Engineer was beside Tony, shaking the BLU Scout by the shoulder. "Where are we, son? Is Spectre on this island?"

The BLU Scout gazed up at the RED Engineer with a mixed look of pity and impatience. "We're on the right island, alright. They... they took Hardhat. He fought back, but we lost our weapons in the fall!" The Scout grinned humourlessly. "Everything was in the back half of the freaking plane, and we lost it all! Hardhat was overrun, and they dragged him away! They left me, but not without wrecking my legs!"

Tony and the Engineer looked down at BLU Scout's legs. The pant legs were torn open, and the skin on his legs was torn away down to the bone, as if they were eaten.

"Imagine it. A Scout with no legs." BLU Scout shook his head, still grinning. "I can hear the Announcer in my head. We failed." He grabbed Tony's bare shoulders suddenly, his eyes wide and maniacal. "WE FAILED THE MISSION! WE FAILED! WE-" The boy jerked spasmodically, and then his head sagged. His arms released Tony's shoulders. The RED Scout stepped back.

The Engineer checked his pulse. "He's dead." He confirmed.

"What did he say?" The Sniper called up to the pair. The Engineer and the RED Scout climbed back down.

"He said we aren't alone on this island," The Engineer replied as he touched back down on solid ground. "Something attacked the survivors."

"What do you mean, 'something'? One of the guards?" The Soldier asked.

"I don't know," The Engineer shook his head. "But I'm going to go back and get my toolbox. I'd prefer it if a sentry was watching us, tonight. And if you don't mind, Scout, I want a weapon."

The Scout hesitated, and then he reached into his holster and pulled out his pistol.

"Thanks, son." The Engineer said with a nod, and then he walked into the woods.

_Even before he opens his eyes, he knows that he's in pain – more pain than normal. He inhales, and each rasping breath feels like daggers in his lungs. With every inhalation, his head becomes a little clearer. He can feel the wind on his face, and in his hair, and he suddenly realizes that he is exposed. He has lost his helmet, and that is why it hurts to breathe._

_ His eyes open – he is on a beach. It is night, and it is a starry sky, and the sand that he lies on is damp. The tide comes in, splashing over his limp body. The cool liquid burns him; it is like fire on his skin._

_ He lifts his body up with his arms, so that he is on his knees. He is surrounded by debris; soggy wood, metal, and a few crates with RED painted on the side. He gets up on one knee and then, with considerable effort, stands up completely. His breaths are still raspy, and his muscles are sore, but he's dealt with pain before. At least he's alive._

_ He hears movement, in the forest up ahead. He squints, trying to see through the darkness. There are two yellow eyes staring back at him, from the cover of the trees. He reaches slowly down to his belt, wrapping his hands around a familiar object. Slowly, he pulls the flare gun from its holster._

_ There are more cracking sounds in the bushes now, and he watches as three more pairs of yellow eyes join the first. They're keeping their distance, and sizing him up._

_ The waves lap against his boots. Other than the tide, the only audible sound is his breathing. Even the birds in the jungle seem to be subdued._

_ The first of the four shadow figures steps forward, and the man – the Pyro – raises the flare gun. The figure steps out of the shadow, and moonlight bounces against a dishevelled red suit and mask. The Pyro relaxes. It's the Spy._

_ His RED teammate takes two more limping steps forward, on an ankle which appears to be twisted. The Pyro doesn't lower his weapon. Something is definitely wrong._

_ In addition to his yellow eyes, his skin is clearly pallid and grey beneath his mask. The entire front of the Spy's shirt is blood-stained beneath his suit. The Pyro can clearly see the source of the wound – a bite mark on his shoulder._

_ The Spy opens his mouth, emitting a moan, and then charges headlong at the Pyro. He is salivating, letting out guttural grunts. The Pyro doesn't hesitate. He fires the flare._

_ It's a well-placed shot, into the Spy's stomach. It punctures his skin, and the Pyro can see the flame spreading within the man's chest cavity, trying to spread through his entire body. The Spy's clothes ignite. The Pyro can see the fire travelling up the man's esophagus. His eyes are melting, as is his brain. The Spy slows, and then stops his approach. The Pyro reaches for the axe that is strapped across his back, and then brings the stone axe head – covered in barbed wire for added lethality – down between the man's eyes. His skull, softened by the fire, bursts like a melon, and he falls._

_ The body lands at the Pyro's feet. The corpse is still burning, bathing the Pyro in warm light. He can see the surrounding beach much more clearly now, and he sees an object of interest. Reaching down, he picks up the gas mask that is lying, half-buried, in the sand. He puts it on his head. The vivid surroundings are mercifully dimmed by the goggles. The Pyro gasps in the filtered air. Now that he has his focus, he turns to the other three figures. They have left the cover of the trees. They all appear to be soldiers – one of them still has a weapon hanging off his shoulder on a sling. All of them have grey skin, and yellow eyes. The Pyro issues a muffled challenge, choking up on the axe haft with his hands, and they charge._


	3. Allies

_In this third chapter, I just want to clear up one thing – I made a mistake in describing the three men whom the Pyro encountered as "soldiers", as they aren't like the RED Soldier in the rest of the story. I'll try to refrain from describing Spectre guards as such in the future._

"So, Engi, what's the first thing you're gonna do once we get off this rock?" The Scout asked. They were sitting around a small table, inside a small hut that they encountered after a couple more hours of walking. The hut was situated beside what appeared to be a dirt road, arcing off in both directions. Because it was growing dark, the Sniper had convinced the Soldier to rest inside. Presently, the Scout, Engineer, Sniper and Soldier were sitting at the table, staring over a gas lantern, while the Demoman sat in a corner. His head was against the wall, and he had an empty bottle of scotch in his hand. He had found the bottle, full, an hour earlier. Outside, at the door, they could hear the level one sentry gun beeping loudly.

"I believe we have bigger problems right now, mate. Perhaps we should be focusing on the present." The Sniper muttered.

"We can hope, can't we?" The Scout replied. "Come on, Hardhat, what're you gonna do when you're home? I mean the FIRST thing."

The Engineer looked down at his wrench, which he was twirling in his hands. He had removed his helmet, bandana and goggles, and they were resting on the ground beside him.

"First," The Engineer said, "I'm going to hug my wife and daughter. I'm gonna tell 'em that I'm quittin' this front-line engineering gig once and for all – no more destruction, no more killing. I've got a university degree – maybe I'll open an auto yard or..." His eyes seemed to glaze over, and his voice lowered to an almost dreamy pitch, "work on spacecraft." The Engineer looked around at the other three. The Soldier guffawed loudly. "Ha! Fat chance, you cowardin' draft dodger! You think that the people at Reliable Excavations and Demolitions just hand out severance packages and send you on your way? Once a RED, always a RED!"

"Oh, and what about you, Solly?" The Sniper asked, leaning his elbows on the table and turning to look at the man, who sat to his left. "I guess you've got no hopes and dreams after we get out of here?"

"This _is _my dream, boys!" The Soldier replied, spreading his arms and opening his palms as if embracing his surroundings. The Sniper and Engineer moved away to avoid being inadvertently struck by the man. "All of this; RED, and everything it stands for! The glory of the charge, the thrill of that perfect kill, the rush of a perfectly executed rocket jump..."

Behind him, the Demoman muttered, "Bloody boots."

"What more could a man ask for?"

"I could die right now, and it'd be as a complete man, my only wish being that I had rid the world of more unfit, worthless maggots before I went!"

"You may get your wish, _monsieur_."

The four men arose with a clatter of chairs. The Scout bumped the table on his way up, sending the lantern falling to the floor. It landed intact and rolled toward the door, its progress halted when it struck the toe of a dress shoe.

The BLU Spy sniffed derisively at the array of weapons that were suddenly pointed at his head.

"What the hell are you doing here, you freaking spook?" The Scout asked. He was standing the closest to the Spy, with his scattergun almost touching the man's cheekbone.

"I would ask all of you the same question, if the answer wasn't so painfully obvious." The Spy reached slowly toward his left breast pocket with his right hand. The four REDs tensed. The Spy tugged his jacket aside with his other hand, revealing a pack of cigarettes in the pocket. The Soldier nodded, and the Spy took one out. "You heard of Spectre developing a new weapon, one that could change the face of warfare altogether and, like my superiors at the Builder's League, those fat executives at RED had to get a slice of the pie. Am I correct so far?"

None of the REDs moved to reply. The Spy lit the cigarette, and took a drag. "I saw the security tapes." He said, his eyes moving slowly from his right to his left, taking in the Engineer, Soldier, Scout, and Sniper. "You were taken down just as swiftly as we were, albeit by different means. The records say that Spectre can control the weather. It was a storm that brought you down, _non_?"

"That's right," The Engineer replied from behind his pistol. "Threw us into some rocks."

"Please, _monsieurs_, we are all adults." The Spy said to the others, nodding down the barrel of the pistol. "Can't you lower your weapons, and speak to me in a more civilized manner?"

"We met your Scout." The RED Scout growled. "He says you abandoned them in that wreckage."

The Spy sniffed again, and then blew smoke into the Scout's face. "The boy and the techie were both injured, and unarmed. I still had my weapons, and my disguises. They were dead men the minute we crash landed onto the island. As you will be," The Spy stared hard at the Soldier. "Unless you lay your weapons down and talk to me."

"Don't do it, mate." The Sniper whispered. "The bloody spooks can't be trusted with anything."

The Soldier mulled this over for a second, and then lowered his shotgun, although he didn't put it away. The Scout and the Engineer followed suit, stepping back from the BLU agent. The Sniper stood his ground, his bowstring taut. "Show me your weapons."

The Spy pulled back the hem of his jacket with one gloved hand, revealing his revolver and his butterfly knife in his belt. "Take them if you must," He said. The Scout looked questioningly at the Soldier, who nodded. The boy gingerly grabbed the weapons from the Spy, and took them away. The Soldier then gestured with his shotgun to the only upright chair. "Sit."

The Spy sat, removing his jacket, and looked up at the REDs. The Sniper leaned over the table, across from him. "Tell us everything." He ordered.

"As you wish. We were supposed to be airdropped in, from a cloaked plane. We had everything planned out – we had more than enough equipment and supplies for the operation, no matter how long it was going to last. We had an attack plan, and an escape plan. Our intelligence had even deciphered all of their radio encryptions – we knew their passwords, their schedules, everything about them!

"We were misled. Whether it was an inside job by some Spectre spies, or just some plain miscommunication by the brass at BLU, something went wrong, and we found ourselves being shot at." The Spy took a drag of his cigarette, and then flicked the stub away. "When I woke up, we were on the island, in the front half of our plane. Demo was dead, Soldier was dead, Sniper... all of them, except Engi and Scout. I left them, promising to return after I had assessed the situation. Thanks in part to intuition, and in part to my own distrust of my associate, I had my weapons on me at the time of the crash. I went into the jungle."

The Engineer leaned against the table, holding his wrench in his hands. "What happened next?"

"I saw them, _monsieur_." The Spy lit another cigarette. "I saw who we were dealing with. You see, it turns out that the _geniuses_ at RED and BLU weren't the only ones to experience some... errors of communication. I managed to find Sceptre's base entrance, and get inside, and what I saw..." He glared up at the men surrounding him. "If any of you get off this island alive, consider yourselves blessed men."

The Scout had righted a chair, and sat down, leaning on the chair back. "What did you see?"

There was a loud clatter, as the Demoman shoved past the Soldier and Sniper, sending both men crashing to the ground. The BLU Spy suddenly found himself with the barrel of a grenade launcher pointed at his face. "I've 'ad enough of this traitor's lies!" He shouted. "He's only here for one reason! He's going to kill us all, and clear the way for his lecherous friends!"

The Spy glared down at the gun, and then at the man wielding it. "Put that thing down, you drunk buffoon, before you kill us all!"

The Scout rose from his chair, and had his palms out. "Whoa, pallie, why don't you put that gun down?"

"The Demoman didn't waver, but instead put his finger on the trigger. "They're going to have to glue you back together, in HELL!"

The Sniper jumped to his feet, jamming his finger behind the grenade launcher's trigger before the Demoman could pull it, and then pushed the man away. The Demo stumbled backward, losing his grip on his weapon, and collapsed on the ground. The Sniper put the launcher on the table, and then helped the man up. "Sorry, mate." He muttered. "But we need him alive... for now."

"_Merci_, mon ami." The Spy smirked, clasping his hands in a pyramid.

"Don't thank me yet, you bloody snake-in-the-grass!" The Sniper warned, slamming both palms down on the table. "I don't like you one bit, but you have information we want, and that's the only reason that you're still alive!"

"These Spies are all the same!" The Demo cried, "He's just after the Intel, and he'll use us to get to it!"

"If you still think I care about the mission, and that stupid briefcase full of paper, then you are a bigger idiot than I first thought." The Spy replied – with mind-numbing coolness – to the Demoman, intertwining his fingers on the tabletop. "Trust me, if everything had gone to plan, all of you would be dead right now, and I would be inside Spectre, blending in with the lab rats while a boatload of BLUs idled on the shores to extract me. As it turns out, however, our plans seem to have taken a... nosedive, so to speak." The Spy tossed aside a second cigarette butt. "I have a new mission... survival. There are no announcers, no rules of engagement and, most of all, no team colours."

The Demoman growled. "Something's still fishy about all this."

"He's right." The Sniper said. "We didn't see you wearing any disguises. How did you get past Engi's sentry?"

The Spy smirked in the Engineer's direction. "You've obviously never fought within the depths of the Well," He said, "If you've never noticed what seawater does to the inside of a Sentry gun."

The entire RED team seemed to freeze. The Engineer's blood suddenly ran cold, and he felt his pistol arm shaking. "What do you mean?"

The Spy stared unblinkingly up at the man. "I mean, your gun can beep all it wants to, but until you reassemble it, and clean out the seaweed, it's blind as a bat."

The Engineer felt faint, and immediately grabbed the back of a chair to steady himself. He put a hand to his head. "My God."

The Sniper suddenly felt a chill. It was a feeling he instantly recognized – the feeling of being out in the wilderness, surrounded by dangerous animals, and realizing that you had just severely underestimated your foe.

"I could hear your idiotic banter from up the road." The Spy told the others. "And if _I_ could hear you, then that means _they_ can hear you, and smell you, and..." He gestured down to the bright light, still lying on its side in front of the open door. "They can see you."

The Sniper was the first one out the door, bow in his right hand and quiver of arrows in his left. The Scout and Engineer were close behind him, the latter putting on his helmet and goggles, followed by the Spy, Soldier, and finally the Demoman, who accidentally stepped on the lantern on his way out, crushing it and plunging the men into complete darkness.

The six of them hurried out into the middle of the road, weapons drawn. The immediate loss of light had blinded them all, and yet all of them thought that they could see shadows moving in the night. The forest seemed to hush, and the only sound was the useless sentry, still not issuing an alarm even though a BLU Spy stood only a few feet from it. The moon, which was bright and full, was covered by a canopy of trees.

"The calm before the storm." The Soldier muttered.

The Sniper returned to the shack, and proceeded to climb a service ladder to the flat roof. He squatted, looking around at the surroundings. There was road to three sides, and jungle behind the shack. Out in the open, the rest of the team was perfectly positioned for an ambush.

"There!" The Scout cried, pointing across the road at the jungle. Everybody's eyes were readjusting to the darkness, and everyone looked to where the boy pointed. The Sniper's eyes were almost fully adjusted, and he noticed movement in the jungle, not far from where the Scout had pointed. There was definitely more than one figure moving around in there. Crashing sounds could be heard on either side of the road, as figures moved around.

The Demoman put a finger on the trigger of his weapon, pointing it at the woods. "Just say the word, laddie-buck." He whispered to the Soldier.

"No," The Engineer replied. "They've got us out in the open. We'll be caught in a cross-fire."

"Don't count on it." The Spy muttered, lighting another cigarette. Wearing only a white suit and blue waistcoat in the darkness, he stood out starkly against the night.

There was a crashing sound down the road, and everyone turned to face it. A figure stumbled out of the bushes, about twenty feet away, moving at a run. It stumbled, and collapsed in the road, on its hands and knees. Five weapons were trained on the figure – it was a woman, her face obscured by long, dirty black hair, a dirt-stained lab coat pooled around her collapsed body.

"It's just a woman," The Soldier said, relaxing his grip on his weapon.

"Don't be so sure," The Spy whispered.

"Scout, go see if she's alright." The Soldier ordered. "Maybe we can get some answers out of her."

"I doubt that." The Spy muttered, as the Scout strapped his scattergun across his back and jogged over to the woman.

Behind them, on the roof of the shack, the Sniper tensed. "It's a trap, mate." He muttered to himself; loathe raising his voice and alerting any predators to his presence. This was a standard hunting technique of skilled predators – present dangerous prey with wounded members of the pack, to lower their guard and focus their attention. So, while the three armed and ready members of the team down below trained their guns on the woman, the Sniper was scanning the trees.

The Scout slowed as he neared the woman. He was still six feet away, and he suddenly felt nervous. She sat on her knees, her head down. She was clearly sobbing. He was now within reach of her. He looked back at his team. They had him covered. He suppressed a shiver as he turned back to the woman, and reached out to touch her shoulder.

The head darted upward, and her hand shot out to grab his forearm. He tried to pull away, but she had him in a death grip. He could see caked blood on her face. Her eyes were wide, and completely mad.

"GET OUT!" She shrieked into the Scout's face. "FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST GET OUT NOW!"

The Scout screamed, and at that moment he felt something smash into him. He landed on his back on the dirt road, and found himself looking up into a pair of rabid, yellow eyes. He cried out as the thing went down on his throat, and pictures floated past his eyes. In a single instant he saw everyone, from his hardworking mother to his eldest brother – now a New York senator, who'd have thought – to his beloved girlfriend Lola, for whom he had joined RED, and he felt the hot drool on his throat

_ I love you, Tony_

And heard the growls

_I love you too, Lola_

And there was a _whoosh_ of air and a yelp, almost like a dog, and the yellow eyes immediately dimmed, and the man on top of him became dead weight. The Scout pushed him away, barely noticing the arrow in the aggressor's head.

The bushes were suddenly alive, as men and women in lab coats and bulletproof vests emerged, converging on the four men huddled together outside the shack. The Scout watched from a distance as the Soldier fired one shot with his shotgun, sending a yellow-eyed man in a lab-coat flying off his feet, before turning around and butting a guard in the face with the weapon's handle.

The Scout jumped to his feet, casting a glance at the woman who was now sprawled on the road beside him, sobbing once more, blood flowing from her wounded face. Suddenly, two more men appeared from the bushes, and he pulled out his bat, ready to fight.

Meanwhile, the Engineer and the Soldier stood back to back, firing at the attackers with their weapons. The Demoman fired a grenade into the trees, and heard the satisfying howls of the wounded as it detonated in the bushes. He fired a second shot down the road. It landed between three scientists, and exploded. Two of them flew into the jungle, followed by spatters of blood and gore. The third, detached from his legs, crawled toward the group on his hands, lab coat trailing grotesquely behind him. The Sniper felled him with an arrow to the head.

The Spy watched as a large, yellow-eyed guard trudged out of the bushes across from him. The Spy reached into his belt for his revolver – but was met with thin air. He cursed, looking around, but everybody else was preoccupied with other targets. He turned back to the infected guard. Letting out a cry of rage, it charged the Spy. He prepared himself as it put its shoulder out, ready to knock him over. He sidestepped it at the last second, grabbing it by its shoulders and throwing it into the wall of the nearby shack, using its own weight against it.

The creature stumbled away from the wall, turning back toward the Spy and letting out another enraged cry. It tried to grab the Spy, but he deftly avoided its swinging arm, instead grabbing the limb and forcing the creature to its knees. With his other hand, he pulled the man's head back by his hair, and then drove the hot end of his cigarette into one yellow eye. The creature bellowed, and hot, rancid breath filtered up to the Spy's nose. He broke the infected man's arm, and let him fall, writhing, to the ground. The Spy turned away, glancing down at his bent cigarette before dropping it.

Suddenly, he was attacked from behind. The Spy felt the immense weight on him as the boar of a man - the same man whose arm he had just broken – forced him to the ground. He got his feet between the man and himself, and with all his strength managed to kick the creature away. It pin-wheeled its arms as it fell on the back, immediately recovering. It was as if it didn't feel the pain in its arm.

Both combatants got up at the same time. The Spy cracked his knuckles as he watched the infected man charge him again, and then he grabbed the man by the neck, and twisted. He heard bones crack, and then lost his grip on the creature's head as the entire body crumpled.

"GET IT OFF!"

The Spy turned, to see the Demoman being forced to the ground by a large, rabid woman. The Spy hurried to the man's aid, when suddenly he was struck from the side by another assailant.

The Soldier, firing a shot into the face of a third aggressor, turned around to see the Spy and the Demoman being attacked. He hurried up to the Spy's side, kicking the crazed Spectre employee off of the BLU mercenary, before turning to the overweight woman who was gnashing at the Demoman's face, and kept at bay only by the Scotsman's padded wrist.

"Eat this, you filthy maggot." The Soldier said, and the woman turned her head to face him as he pulled the trigger. Her face splattered all over the dirt road. The Soldier helped the Demoman to his feet.

"This changes nothing, you lyin' rat!" The Demoman growled, before both men turned to new enemies.

The Engineer fired four shots at an oncoming guard; three of them hit armour, while the fourth struck the man's shoulder. He didn't slow. The Engi cursed as he retreated, past his useless sentry and into the shack. The guard entered the building, followed by two more infected men. The Engi fired again, but his pistol clicked impotently. He ejected the clip, reaching into his belt for a second one, kicking the table over to buy himself time. There were no more clips in his belt. With a curse, he grabbed his wrench from his belt, and swung at the first man who jumped the table. The guard's jaw broke clean off, and blood spattered a wall. The Engi swung a second time, hitting another man's head so hard that his neck snapped. The third guard leapt the table, and the Engi swung a third time. The guard blocked the wrench with his wrist – the Engi heard it break in the process – and tackled the technician. The Engineer cried out, holding the man at bay, but feeling his arms giving out under the weight of him.

The rabid man gnashed at the Engineer's face, and the Engineer screamed, when suddenly he heard a slicing sound. The gnashing stopped, and the eyes glazed over. The Engineer looked down at the creature's chest, and saw a kukri sticking out of it. The thing collapsed beside the Engineer.

"Thanks," The Engi sighed. The Sniper helped him to his feet. "No problem, mate."

The two men walked outside, to see the other four standing in the street, surrounded by bodies. Everything was silent once again.

"Shell counts, boys!" The Soldier exclaimed, unloading his own weapon.

"I'm out," The Engineer said.

"Me too," The Sniper concurred, as he pried an arrow out of the skull of a scientist and put it in his empty quiver.

"I'm unarmed," The Spy complained. "You fools had better give me a weapon, if you expect to survive."

The Scout pulled the Spy's revolver from his bag, and approached the man.

"_Merci_," The Spy said, holding out his hand. The Scout ignored him, pushing past him to hand the revolver to the Engineer.

"Thanks, son." The Engi said, testing the weapon's weight in his hands.

"Imbeciles," The Spy whispered to himself, kneeling down over the body of a guard and silently pulling a pistol from his holster. He felt a man grab his wrist, and looked up.

"Not bloody likely." The Demoman hissed into his face. With a disgusted sigh, the Spy dropped the weapon. The Demoman released his arm, and walked away.

"I have ten shells," The Soldier concluded. "And three grenades," He gestured to the grenades that were strapped to his chest.

"Five grenades," The Demoman reported. His armoured vest, which was usually stocked with grenades, was now down to only one.

"Six revolver bullets," The Engineer said.

"Four arrows," The Sniper pulled another arrow from the head of a victim. The arrow snapped in half on its way out. "Three arrows."

"Eleven shells," The Scout added. He knelt down over a fallen man, picking up a weapon. "And a pistol!"

"Scavenge everything you can!" The Soldier ordered. The team started to go to work, searching bodies for weapons. For the most part, the dead men were unarmed. Those men that were armed carried nothing larger than sidearms.

The Spy retrieved his suit jacket from the shack, and resisted the urge to smoke another cigarette. It was going to be a long night, and he needed to ration.

Suddenly, there were crashing sounds down the road, followed by numerous snarls and growls. The team turned to face the sounds.

"Bloody 'ell."

"_Merde_."

"Bullocks."

The Infected appeared from around the corner, charging down the middle of the road toward the team. There were at least thirty of them initially, with more leaping out of the bushes to join them. The Sniper doffed his hat, and held it to his chest. "Well, it's been fun, you bunch of wankers!" He raised his bow. "Let's give 'em a gob-full!"

"Give 'em hell, boys!" The Soldier cried.

"LET'S DO ITTTT!" The Demoman exclaimed, pulling back on the slide of his launcher to chamber a grenade. That's when he heard a loud crashing sound behind him.

"Auf Wiederschen... _Schweinehunds!_"

"RUN COWAAAAARDS!"

The Scout looked over his shoulder to the source of the sound, jumping out of the way as a spinning minigun passed him. The Heavy Weapons Guy pushed past the Spy and Demoman, coming to stand between the Sniper and the Soldier, and the sounds of the growling Infected were suddenly drowned out by the roar of the weapon in his hand, as it spewed a stream of steel into the attackers. Behind him, a blood-stained Medic wielding an equally stained bone saw cackled in delight, as the reflected muzzle flashes of the big gun danced in his eyes.

"I KILL TOO MANY TO COUNT!"

Sasha's bullets tore through the horde. The others could only watch in amazement as high-calibre, high-velocity bullets tore off limbs, blew through flesh and armour alike, and threw the Infected off their feet. The massacre went on for no more than twelve seconds, and left only a few limping stragglers in its wake. The other team members raised their weapons to finish off these survivors, but they were stopped by the Medic, who put his hand on the shoulders of the Soldier and Sniper. Without further hesitation, the Medic broke off from the group and walked over to the Infected. "Come here," he called to those who were left, raising the saw above his head. They immediately limped toward him. "Zis vill only sting for a second!"

He stabbed and slashed with the bone saw, which did exactly what its title suggested. Arms, legs, and entire torsos were shorn off of the Infected, who were being destroyed with a terrible fury and prejudice that the team had never before seen in their Medic. He killed all but one Infected; a young woman wearing a white lab coat with a red cross on it, limping on a broken leg, her yellow eyes glaring at the Medic.

The doctor squared off with this woman, letting her limp towards him.

"Ah, a beautiful specimen!" The Medic exclaimed, drawing a long syringe from his pocket. The woman snarled at him, stretching her arms out and grabbing his shoulders. Casually, the Medic plunged the syringe into the woman's armpit. The rabid female stumbled, let out a weak, slurred groan, and finally fell into the Medic's arms.

"Ze Doctor is out!" The Medic exclaimed.

The Heavy let his gun stop spinning, and then raised it with a chuckle. "Little, little men!" He shook his head at the corpses before him, and then turned toward the RED team, many of whom were hanging their heads in guilt.

"Let this be lesson for you." He growled.

"We're sorry," The Scout said, looking like he was ready to dart. "W-we had no other options, bruddah! Really! I-I wanted to stay! I was outvoted!"

The entire team was uneasy, unsure of what their large friend would do. The Heavy's concentration shifted, however, as he looked past the REDs to the BLU team member standing behind them.

"That Spy is not our Spy!" He screamed, spinning the minigun once more. The Sniper jumped in front of the barrel, as he began to explain everything to the Heavy. Meanwhile, the Medic lay his unconscious subject down on the ground, while the Engineer disassembled his Sentry, looking for any dysfunctional parts.

Amidst all of the activity, the Soldier cried, "This changes nothing, maggots! We leave at dawn!" And, a few miles away, a man in asbestos-lined red coveralls fell asleep amidst burning corpses in the back half of a broken BLU plane, his head rested contentedly on a brand new weapon, his self-appropriated gift from the BLUs.


	4. Spectre

The full moon lit their way, flanked in all directions by brilliant stars. The eight mercenaries were walking along the road – the Spy was in the lead, still unarmed, and followed closely by the Soldier. The larger man held his shotgun tightly. He didn't aim it at the BLU agent, but he made it very clear that any unexpected movements would be a very bad decision on the mysterious man's part.

The Sniper followed close behind, looking up at the stars and the moon, trying to use them as a point of reference before the group got completely lost. Although they had made the Spy promise to take them to Spectre, he was extremely sceptical. He had seen the downed BLU plane, and the bodies, so he knew that there was no chance of a BLU ambush. However, he also knew the Spy's character, and he couldn't help but apprehensively carry the notion that they were walking out of the frying pan and right into a raging inferno.

He glanced over at the Medic, who was still carrying his prize; the female doctor, her head cradled in his arms, her inhuman yellow eyes closed – despite the grey skin and film of grime on her, the Sniper could tell she had been quite attractive, undoubtedly the target of many butt slaps and crude words from her superiors. The marksman was unsure of the Medic's motives with this colleague – this _woman_ colleague – but he knew from experience that it wouldn't be pleasant. Nothing in their long history of partnership had ever given the Sniper a reason to believe otherwise.

Behind the Sniper were the Engineer and Scout – the older man had two pistols holstered, and carried his packed Sentry in his toolbox. The Scout had his bat resting over one shoulder. He looked nonchalantly out at the jungle, his peaceful expression contradicting the bloodstains on the dented weapon he held. His free hand toyed with his dog tags.

The Demoman followed, next to last, holding his heavy grenade launcher close to his chest. His head was constantly moving from left to right – the fact that he only had half of his natural vision was making him very jumpy, especially with woods to either side and a mental state that currently fell – to put it lightly – short of sobriety.

Behind the Demoman was the Heavy, a man whose calm, stoic demeanour gave the Sniper almost as much concern as the Spy's did. The Scout, Engineer and Soldier seemed to have assumed that the Heavy had forgotten their betrayal of him at the beach, but the Sniper knew different. He knew that behind that stone-faced stare and that slow, broken speech was a mind that was used to being underestimated; hell, a mind that _counted_ on it. Sitting in his perch at the Dustbowl, and the Badlands, and the Pipeline, the Sniper had many chances to objectively observe the Heavy Weapons Guy, and what he saw was a mind which, while lacking in higher intellect, excelled in all applications military and tactical. Behind that bald head and those cold eyes was a regular idiot-savant. If a man were to ask the Heavy to add two and two, he would probably be met with any reaction from a blank stare to a broken neck. However, if he were to ask the man about the inner workings of his extensive gun collection, the Heavy would rattle off statistics from the weapon's origins, to its killing power, to its rounds per minute, all of which – according to the Engineer – were infallibly correct.

The heavy turned his head slightly, meeting the Sniper's eyes. The gaze remained locked for a few seconds, and then the Heavy sniffed, and looked straight ahead once more. The Sniper turned back around. Idiot-savant.

"Here it is!" The Spy hissed, loathe breaking the silence that the group had been keeping for the entire half-hour trek. The saboteur gestured at a large round hatch, camouflaged carefully, which even the Sniper admittedly would have missed. The hatch was attached to a small, round building, which seemed to run underground. Intelligence confirmed that Spectre was a subterranean fortress. These hatches would be all that could be seen from ground level.

The Soldier approached the hatch, and raised his fist to rap on it with his knuckles.

"No!" Both the Sniper and Spy cried, although it was the BLU agent who moved to grab the man and pull him to the ground.

The Soldier recovered from the shock of the man's attack before either of them landed. In an instant his hand was pressing down on the Spy's throat.

"You fool!" The Spy gasped through his obstructed airway. "All of the security systems are still up! Do you want... to kill us all?" He choked the last few words out. His eyes seemed to bulge behind the mask.

"Let him go!" The Engineer ordered. The Soldier ignored him.

"You... stubborn... oaf!" The Spy croaked. "You... want the... _Intel_?" The last word was a wheeze.

The Soldier hesitated, his face softening, and then he released the Spy. Both men rose to their feet, the Spy massaging his red throat with one gloved hand, glaring daggers at the Soldier.

"So what do we do?" The Engineer asked. "How do we get in?"

"More importantly," The Sniper interjected, "is there a way off this island?"

"There's a helicopter," The Spy wheezed, trying to get his voice back. "It's on a helipad, about a half-mile that way." He pointed past the hatch.

"Forget the Intel, then!" The Scout exclaimed, eliciting a growl from the Soldier. "Let's go!"

"Congratulations, boy, you're stupider than you let on." The Spy extracted his cigarette case. It was empty. He put it back. "Have you already forgotten that BLU Scout who you were so livid over earlier? The downed plane? This base has a missile defense system which, I am forced to assume, operates independent of human control. If you want to make an airborne getaway, you are going to have to go in there," he pointed to the hatch. "and disable it."

The Sniper glanced over his shoulder, at the woods not far behind them. They were wasting time, and he couldn't help but feel that the Spy was stalling. He strode over to the agent, and grabbed his collar. "Get us in there, then," he practically whispered into the man's ear. "You bloody spook!"

"Take your hands off me, _monsieur_," The Spy whispered back, having fully regained his voice. "Or you will lose them."

The Sniper tightened his grip briefly, and then let go. The Spy stepped away, glaring while he fixed his collar, first at the Sniper, and then at the Soldier. "There are still tensions, I see, over the colour of my suit." The Spy snarled. "If you boys can't learn how to keep them in check, then none of us are getting off this island."

The Sniper advanced a step toward the Spy. The Soldier simply ran a finger across his own neck in a throat-slitting motion.

Appearing to be outwardly unimpressed by these shows of bravado, the Spy nonetheless turned to the hatch. He brushed some leaves away from a section of wall beside the hatch, which housed a nearly unnoticeable panel. The Spy flipped the panel open, revealing a keypad and a slot. The Spy withdrew a key card from his jacket pocket, and then punched in a 4 digit code, inserting the card. The machine made a low humming sound as it processed, and then it regurgitated the card with a _whir_. The Spy replaced it in his pocket, stepping back as the large hatch swung open.

The inside of the base was well-lit, and the entire team was blinded as the synthetic lighting invaded their retinas. The Sniper squinted, pulling his sunglasses case out of his vest pocket.

They were staring down a steep flight of stairs, wide enough to accommodate two people side by side, or the Heavy.

The eight men crowded around the entrance, staring down these steps. There were about fifteen of them. The stairway terminated in two elevator doors.

"That elevator leads down into the heart of Spectre," the Spy told the others. "The belly of the beast, if you will. That's where everything went wrong. I believe the majority of the Infected escaped the first time I entered – they climbed up the shaft like insects, and swarmed out onto the island. I barely made it out alive."

"They closed the hatch door behind them?" The Sniper asked sardonically. The Spy glared back at him.

"It's a secured entry, controlled by computers. A timer probably closed it."

"Vell, vhat are ve standing around for?" The Medic demanded. "I administered a light sedative to my patient!" He gestured down at the Infected girl who lay in his arms, not even so much as a rope binding her arms. "I suggest ve move! S_chnell!_"

"He's right," The Spy agreed. "It's time to move. There are probably still Infected in those hallways. I would be careful."

The Spy heard the unmistakeable sound of a shotgun being cocked. He heard the unused shell hit the floor. He didn't need to look back to know that the Soldier had his shotgun pointed at the BLU man's back, and that the man had wasted his shell for mere dramatic effect.

The Sniper leaned in behind the Spy. "You _will_ be careful, mate." He whispered, putting the weight of malice into every word. "You're going down first."

The Spy smirked, despite himself. "Without a weapon?" He turned around to face the others. "Need I remind you all that I have all of the codes, and all of the maps to this facility? Without me, you may as well just lay your weapons down and walk away, because you won't be getting off this rock."

The REDs were all silent for a minute. Then, finally, the Soldier said, "It's settled, then. Demoman, go with him."

"You bloomin' son-of-a" The Demo began, but the Sniper held up his hand. "No. I'll go." He grabbed his bow, which had been slung across his shoulder, and then started down the stairs. "Come on."

The Spy followed the Sniper down the stairs. The others watched as the RED marksman called the elevator. The doors opened almost instantly, and both men stepped in, turning around. The Sniper took one more look at his teammates, from the frightened Scout to the emotionless Heavy, and then the doors closed completely. RED and BLU descended into the abyss. A soft, instrumental tune accompanied them as they went down.

"The base is a mile below ground." The Spy said. He turned to the RED mercenary. "I sense that you volunteered to join me for a reason?"

"I haven't forgotten anything, you blasted snake-in-the-grass!" The Sniper replied, not taking his eyes off the elevator doors. "I haven't forgotten you, you lecherous rat, or what happened back in the Badlands."

The Spy raised his eyebrows, turning to face the door once again. "So you remember me, then. Interesting."

"I remember you, alright." The Sniper finally turned to look at the Spy. "I remember the looks in the faces of those unarmed Scouts as you killed them, in cold blood!"

"Better them, than me." The Spy replied, not raising his voice. "If they had managed to get that bomb to our base in time, then their weapons wouldn't have been disabled. They would still be alive."

"But death just wasn't enough with me, was it?"

The Sniper suddenly raised his shirt, facing the Spy, and revealing the faded scar in his chest. The letters were clear, despite being obscured by both hair and age. _BLU_.

The Spy smirked. "I forgot about that."

"Really? I recall you cackling while you marked me with the name of my enemy. Being an assassin for RED was just a job before that night. Since then, I have made it my career to hunt and kill rodents like you!"

The Spy's smirk spread, almost to a grin. "Consider yourself lucky I wasn't working for Spectre."

"You rat!" The Sniper suddenly drew his kukri, bringing it down in a vertical swing. The Spy jumped out of the way, and the machete slashed the upholstered side of the elevator. Before the marksman could recover, the saboteur had grabbed his arm, twisting his wrist and forcing the Aussie to his knees.

"Just because you need me," the Spy whispered in his ear. "doesn't mean I need you. Give me one reason to keep you alive, or I will break your shooting arm right now!"

The elevator doors suddenly opened with a loud _bing_, and both men looked forward. They were staring down a white hallway, streaked with blood on the walls and tiled floor. Two corpses lay motionless against the walls. A third body was on the floor, with three well-dressed accountants on their hands and knees, chewing out the man's intestines. At the sound of the doors opening, all three of them looked up. Six yellow eyes locked with four human ones, and the three Infected immediately charged.

The Spy released the Sniper's arm, and the RED outdoorsman wasted no time in swinging his kukri. He lopped the head off the nearest scientist – a stocky woman, before stabbing the blade right through the chest of a man. The third Infected tackled the Sniper, who lost his knife in the body of his previous quarry. The Sniper fell on his back on the ground, an overweight office worker on top of him. The Sniper held the creature at bay, feeling its rancid breath on his face as it tried to bite his throat.

Two hands, hidden under black gloves, suddenly appeared on each side of the creature's head. They twisted, and with a snapping sound, the bureaucrat became dead weight.

The Sniper pushed the man off of him, and then rose to his feet. The Spy was kneeling next to one of the other corpses, extracting cigarettes from its pocket. "You may not be necessary," he said, lighting a cigarette, "but that doesn't mean you won't make _my_ job a little easier."

"I don't need your help," The Sniper growled, turning away from the Spy to kick one of the fallen Infected men onto his back. The assassin pulled the kukri from the businessman's chest with a tearing sound, sending a fresh splatter of blood onto the wall. "And as long as I'm living, you aren't leaving this island. I promise you that."

The Spy nodded. "I accept your challenge," he said, pushing past the Sniper, who resisted the urge to plunge the dripping kukri through the Frenchman's back.

They walked down to the end of the hallway, which terminated in a T-junction. To the left and right were longer hallways, which went on for as far as the men could see, sloping gently away from them. These long hallways branched off into new corridors on the opposite wall, every twenty feet or so.

"The entire base is round," The Spy explained. "The upper floor consists of multiple layers, all of them containing offices or cubicles. This is the business sector of the base – the 'face' of the fortress, so to speak. This is what Spectre wants its sponsors to see."

Behind them, the elevator doors opened. Neither man turned around, although they heard the Scout's voice ("What da hell's going on?") followed by the Engineer's.

"Spy! You'd better not have led us into a death trap down here!" The builder cursed as he stepped gingerly over corpses.

"So many bodies." The Medic added. "So many specimens." The three men joined the Spy and Sniper at the junction.

"Where do we go from here?" The Engineer asked.

"The elevators for the lower levels are in the middle of this circle." The Spy replied. "They are behind another hatch, marked with biohazard warnings. Don't worry, the warnings are only to scare off some curious investors, o_r so I was told_." The Spy flashed another of those infuriating smirks.

Another _bing_, and the Soldier and Demoman were downstairs, leaving only the Heavy. The Soldier's eye appeared bruised beneath his helmet, and the Demoman was clutching his stomach in pain. Apparently the Spy and Sniper weren't the only ones who needed to clear the air about some things.

"Once we are down there, we'll have almost unlimited access to Spectre. All we have to do is disarm the system, and we leave this cursed rock once and for all."

"_Don't forget, we're taking the Intelligence_." The Soldier growled, as the elevator doors closed and the lift went back up for the Heavy.

"Of course," The Spy muttered venomously. "You're taking the Intelligence."

"Well, whatever we're doing could wait till morning." The Engineer said, with a yawn that caused a chain reaction from the group.

"Sleep? We're behind enemy lines, maggot!" The Soldier exclaimed. "We slept back on the beachhead, and that should be enough!" He whipped his head around, looking at the bloody hallways under the long, rectangular lights. "I hope you find a comfy spot, because if you get caught off guard by an enemy, your _beauty rest_ will be a permanent one!"

"I'm with hardhat on this one, bruddah." The Scout said, mirroring the Engineer's yawn.

"Same deal as the woods, mate." The Sniper said to the Soldier, suppressing a yawn of his own. "If you want to go ahead alone, then that's fine by us. But we all need to be sharp if we want to get out of here!"

"Have it your way, maggots!" The Soldier said, turning and walking toward the nearest intersection, which led to the elevator.

The Soldier walked down the aisle, quickly losing sight of the others. He could see the elevators, in the middle of the chamber, and he strode toward them. The cubicles were silent all around him. The aisles were narrow, and there was no visibility. Two bodies lay sprawled between the elevators and him. He slowed, and then finally stopped. For the first time in his life, the Soldier found himself completely unnerved. He walked back. "I've thought it through!" He called to the others, his voice a little less firm than before. "And I think it would be the tactical decision to go down together, later! We can rest in these offices, but not before we make sure every elevator, vault, door and vent are completely secure!"

"Solid plan, mate." The Sniper nodded. "Split up, groups of three. I don't want anyone getting caught off guard. Demo, Engi, come with me!"

"Do vhat you vant!" The Medic spat, "I am going to find a secure place to drop off my... associate here." His eyes flicked down to the unconscious doctor in his arms.

They separated in their groups – the Sniper's group started clockwise around the circular hallway, while the Medic and Heavy went counter-clockwise. The Scout and Soldier took the nearest intersecting hallway, with the Spy between them, and proceeded to check every cubicle.

Holding his bat in his hand, following behind the Soldier and the Spy, the Scout could see why the former was so shaken by the prospect of traveling this route alone. Blood smeared the walls of cubicles, while some workers – their brains chewed right out – lay sprawled across the aisles, or their bloody heads on their desks and typewriters.

In addition to the round hallway that enveloped these cubicles, many more aisles intersected the cubicles, each aisle sloping inward, running parallel to the outer antechamber, like concentric ripples in a pond. The trio passed one of these intersections when the Scout heard something. He paused, looking down the aisle to his right side. The Soldier and Spy continued walking forward, not noticing the Scout's intermission.

The young man stood completely still, hoping to hear another sound, and possibly identify it. Presently, however, all he could hear were the footsteps of his companions, leaving without him. Then he heard the sound again – a _swish_, the ruffling of papers, followed by another, more heartwrenching sound – a woman crying. The sound was faint – it was undoubtedly coming from across the chamber – but the Scout followed it nonetheless. He moved cautiously down this intersecting aisle, losing sight of the Soldier and the Spy, and he was suddenly and jarringly alone. He tightened his grip on the bat, trying to pinpoint the sound, while simultaneously keeping his ears open for any other threatening noises. The cubicles crowded him – visibility was extremely low, and his eyes darted left and right as he passed the small workspaces. The Scout came up to a knocked over water cooler, with a body lying beside it. The dead man still held a paper cup in his hand. The young RED mercenary stepped gingerly over the man. The crying was noticeably louder now, and the Scout thought that he could see the cubicle from which it originated. The lament was mewling, and pitiful, and the Scout felt himself soften a little. Without knowing it, he had lowered the bat. He walked past a motivational poster: PERSEVERENCE – TACKLE YOUR DREAMS – with a bloody handprint on it. He was in another intersection; the crying was coming from the nearest cubicle. In the back of his mind, he thought he could hear another sound – a wailing, repetitive song, that chilled the heart and caused the hairs on the nape of his neck to prickle – but he ignored it. This woman was in distress.

The Scout looked to his left and right, and then behind him. There were no living people in sight. He swallowed, trying to lubricate a throat that had suddenly gone bone-dry. Reaching up to his chest, he gripped the dog tags that hung there

_Lola_

And then released them. He stepped up to the cubicle, looking inside.

He saw the cubicle walls – brown, claustrophobic, no different than every other workspace in the office. On top of the metal desk were a couple photos; a smiling young woman in a bikini, hardly old enough to be an intern, her arm around the shoulders of a large, young man. It was a beach shot. He saw the name on the desk, Sally, and the typewriter with half a page's worth of work on it. The title at the top said: THE MEDUSA PROJECT – TRANSCRIBED BY SALLY DUVALL. A revolving chair lay upended at the base of the desk, and beside the chair was Sally.

She was wearing what appeared to be a bra and dress pants, cut off at the thighs so they became shorts. Her face was buried in a pair of deformed hands, with fingers which ended in long, horrible claws. A red light was glowing on her grey face, and in a moment of terrifying, petrifying clarity the Scout realized that the light was coming from her eyes. She was far enough away for him to touch, but he had no intention of putting his hand on her. His strong, runner's legs suddenly became limp and numb. Only two seconds had passed since he had stepped into the cubicle.

Her sobs suddenly turned into agitated, simian growls. She lowered her hands from her face, and rose into a half-squat as she glared at him. The eyes were bearing on him, paralyzing him, and he opened his mouth in a silent scream.

She shrieked in response, standing up to her full height and spreading her long talons out. This broke the Scout out of his stupor, and without any conscious thought he bolted out of the cubicle, crying for help. He didn't need to look back to know that she was following him. Her shrieks filled his head, hellish banshee wails that sent him into a panic, and forcibly suppressed all conscious thought in his mind. He took a left turn at the next intersection, not slowing down, literally bouncing off one of the cubicle walls to keep his speed. He had dropped his bat, but he didn't notice. He didn't know if he was running toward the elevators, or toward the outer antechamber. It didn't matter. She kept screaming, he kept screaming, and she was gaining on him.

Suddenly, the Scout saw the Soldier round the corner up ahead, stopping in the middle of the aisle, blocking the Scout's path. He held his shotgun level.

"Move, move, move!" The Scout screamed.

"Get down!" The Soldier ordered.

The command barely registered in the Scout's panicked mind, and he continued to run, on a collision course with the man who WOULDN'T GET OUT OF THE WAY. Finally, as in a moment of clarity, the order made its way into what little of the Scout's reasoning brain was still intact. He didn't have the time or the capacity to think about it, however. Acting merely on faith, he dove to the ground at the Soldier's feet. Before he was even on the ground, he heard the shotgun go off. The sound was deafening, and he felt the rush of displaced air rip painfully through his ears. The screaming didn't stop, however, even though the Scout knew the shot was a hit – a miss was impossible in these aisles – and in an instant he could feel Sally on top of him. The shotgun cocked, and the Scout saw a spent shell hit the floor next to his head. Then he felt an immense pain in his back, and he knew that those claws – those horrible, unnatural _claws_ – had just slashed him, and worse than the pain of the wounds in his back was the stark realization that it would happen again, and again, and _again_, because mortal weapons couldn't stop this creature.

The Soldier fired again, and the shrieks momentarily stopped, but then immediately started again. The Scout felt more slashes across his back, this time going the other way, and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he was going to die, and even if he _did_ survive he would be disfigured, he would have those overlapping X's over his back for the rest of his life. The Soldier cocked again, and then fired, and the Scout felt the weight leave his back. He was finally free. The shrieking faltered, but the Scout didn't hesitate. He immediately jumped to his feet, turning to face the Infected woman. She was on her back, and he could see the shotgun shots that pockmarked her body, but she was rising to her feet again. The Scout pulled his scattergun from the bag across his back, and lowered the barrels to bear on the woman's face. She snarled up at him, revealing teeth that looked like they had been white, but were now just blood-stained. The scars of her bite, the bite that had infected her, were visible on her shoulder.

"Eat it, bitch!" The Scout cried, pulling both triggers. The barrels flashed, and the snarling, inhuman face of Sally Duvall splattered down the aisle in a mess of brains, skull, and grey skin.

The Scout was starting to feel lightheaded, and he could hear footsteps all around. The Sniper, Engineer, and Demoman were the first ones to appear.

"What in the bloody 'ell happened here?" The Demo demanded of the Soldier.

"For the love of God!" The Engineer exclaimed. "Scout!" He hurried over to the young man, who used his hard-hatted comrade's shoulder to balance himself.

"He was attacked," The Soldier said, thumbing a few fresh shells into his shotgun. "By that... thing." He cocked the weapon, sending the last spent shell spiralling to the ground at Sally's feet.

The Sniper knelt down over the woman's headless corpse, grabbing a long claw in his hand.

"That crying," The Scout muttered, breaking into sobs. "That wretched, sorrowful, crying!"

There were more footsteps down the hall – the Medic and the Heavy.

"Vhat vas zat horrible –" The Medic appeared in the aisle, no longer holding the Infected doctor. He met eyes with the Scout. "_Nein!_" The Medic pushed through the Sniper and Demo, stepping over Sally's corpse, toward the Scout. The younger man felt the doctor's hand on his forehead. "He vill die soon." The Medic said to the others.

"What?" The Scout cried, although he could already feel his mind clouding. He was rapidly losing consciousness. If the Engineer wasn't completely supporting him, he would have fallen. "W-w-what d-do you m-m-mean, I'm d-dy-" His face was pale, and his head lolled to the side. Everything went dark, and the Scout's world was scaled down to mere sounds.

"Is little man alive?" He heard the Heavy ask. The voice sounded far away.

"He is alive, yes." The Medic replied in a voice that was also distant, and growing farther with each passing second. "He is falling unconscious, fast. Grab him, my obtuse friend, and follow me. Ve vill take him to ze infirmary, where I have tied up ze Infected doctor."

The Scout felt himself being lifted, and he heard a jingling as his bare arm rattled the chain of ammunition on the Heavy's shoulder.

"Bugger me," The Sniper muttered. "Sobs like a siren, screams like a banshee, sounds like a real witch!"

"Keep your wits about you, maggots!" The Soldier shouted this, but to the Scout it was barely audible in the fog that was clouding his consciousness. "There may be more Witches like this around!"

"And for God's sake, wankers, _keep together_! I don't want to see any more o' you blokes buying it!"

Lola smiled at him, her blonde hair hanging over bare shoulders, the sheets pulled up to her chest. "Tony," She mouthed, but then even this image disappeared, and all was dark.

_The Pyro can hear the calls all around him – even the ones that aren't there. He is walking on asphalt, but his booted feet can't tell the difference between this surface, or the forest dirt. The Infected are all around him. Apart from his equipment rattling, and the occasional footstep, he is silent. The only scent that is emitted from his flame retardant suit is the pungent odour of gasoline, and this seems to repel most of the Infected. When the occasional zombie gets too near, the Pyro sets him straight with a generous dose of blazing fire. The light will draw more of them, but by then the Pyro is far enough away, and the horde just stares dumbly at their smouldering kin._

_There is a helicopter on a raised platform nearby. The platform is protected on four sides by high, chain-link fences with barbed wire, and behind these fences are four towers. The Pyro only sees movement in one of these towers. It is a zombie, and although this creature would burn nicely, the tower that he stands on is metal. The Pyro eyes the helicopter. It wouldn't burn; at least not in the traditional sense. What it will do is explode, _EXPLODE_, and that ignites a stirring which originates in the Pyro's heart, and then travels down to his loins. He feels an uncoiling in his heart as he imagines the fanfare behind this combustion – with nobody around to control the fire, it will spread to the jungle, and then the entire island. The Pyro lets out a triumphant yell, raising his flamethrower above his head, as he imagines a world of flame; flaming trees, flaming buildings, flaming people..._

_The Pyro hurries toward the fence. It protects the aircraft on all sides – there are no gates. The only visible entrance is a round, metal door inside the perimeter. He sees a sign upon the fence – it is the picture of a man, with a bolt of lightning piercing through him. The Pyro knows that the fence is electrocuted, but the thrill of the flames entices him. He pulls the trigger on his flamethrower, and immediately washes the fence in flame. The metal links glow dark-red, and then glow an almost orange colour as they become molten. The flame draws the horde; first three or four, then ten, then twenty. A couple of them touch the fence, and their brains are immediately fried. They fall limply to the pavement._

_The flames subside, even though the Pyro is still pulling the trigger. The propane tank attached to the flamethrower's nozzle is empty. The Pyro immediately yanks it off. He must find another if he is to succeed._

_He reaches over his shoulder, and his hand encircles the haft of the axe that is strapped to his back. He pulls it off, and swings it in a vertical chop. The blade connects with the fence, weakened by the heat, and severs the links in a straight line. Sparks light up on the barbed wire wrapped around the axe head. Metal links are sheared apart, leaving a gruesome gash as tall as the Pyro himself – a gnarled tear which disrupts the constant diamond-pattern of links running down the perimeter of the barrier. The Pyro chops a few more times, widening the hole, and then steps gingerly through it. He feels a light shock on his way through – his suit manages to prevent most of the current, however, sparing his life. He is inside the fence now, with the Spectre escape helicopter looming before him. There is a sign nearby – "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY – CODE 4 CLEARANCE REQUIRED!"_

_The Pyro hears a whirring sound to his right, and he turns. The large, round security hatch is opening. It swings outward, and the Pyro can see a man standing in the doorway. The man is tall, and thin. He is wearing an ash-grey, three-piece, pinstriped suit, with a matching grey mask over his head. One black-gloved hand is wrapped around a briefcase, which is also black. The Pyro sees a glitter of silver metal – the man's hand is cuffed to the briefcase. The other hand flicks a cigarette. The man takes one step outside. He is currently distracted by his pocket watch. The Pyro reaches into his belt for his flare gun._

_The dark man suddenly looks up, and his eyes widen as he catches sight of the Pyro, who has unholstered his flare gun. The stranger suddenly reaches into his jacket with his free hand – the hand that had flicked the cigarette – and pulls out a large revolver, firing it before the Pyro can even raise his own weapon._

_There is now pain in the Pyro's shoulder, and he feels himself being knocked backward, as if punched. The flare gun flies out of his hands. He falls on his back. The pain is nothing, however. He is used to the pain, for he has lived with pain his entire life. He immediately rises to his feet, gripping his axe, but the dark man has already turned around, and is bolting back through the door, and down the stairs. The Pyro hurries after him, but not before stopping to grab his flamethrower._

_The Pyro steps into the doorway. The dark man is down a flight of stairs, standing in an elevator chamber. He is lighting a cigarette. The Pyro reaches for his flare gun, forgetting that he has already lost it. The elevator doors are closing. The man inside smiles up at the Pyro. "Au revoir!" He calls, and then the doors close on him. He has escaped. The Pyro hurries down to the elevator, knowing that it is already too late. There is a Spy loose in Spectre, and he has the Intelligence. The Pyro, all but forgetting his quest to burn down Spectre, presses the elevator call button frantically. There is Spy-checking to be done._


	5. Intelligence

The Scout awoke to the snarls and growls of the Infected. At first he thought he was still dreaming – there was no respite from this virus anywhere, it seemed, even in sleep – but as he gradually started coming to his senses, and the guttural roars grew crisper, he immediately realized that this was no dream.

He opened his eyes, and was met with the enraged, slavering jaws of a zombie. The Scout screamed, rolling off of the cot that he had been lying on, and immediately reached for his bat. His ball bag was gone, and all he felt was bare skin – scar tissue, criss-crossing his back.

The Infected woman – he now recognized her as the Medic's specimen – strained against her bonds. She had been bound by the wrists to two clamps on the wall, and she was trying to pull herself free. They were in a small, rectangular room. To the Scout's right was a long mirror, and a door. The only thing separating him from this creature was the cot that he had been sleeping on.

The Scout immediately reached down to his belt, grabbing the familiar pistol that rested there, and pulled it free. "Diagnosis; you suck!"

The door immediately burst open, and the young man felt a massive weight tackle him against a nearby wall. A strong hand grabbed his right wrist, forcing his gun hand up over his head, and the Scout discharged a round into the ceiling. White flecks rained down on his assailant and him.

He brought his other fist up to strike his attacker's head, when his attacker suddenly rammed two fingers beneath his armpit. The Scout's hand unclenched, and dropped uselessly to his side.

The Medic pushed the Scout off of him, onto the wall. The younger man was now holding his lifeless left arm.

"What the hell is your problem?" The Scout demanded. "What did you do to me? My arm's dead!"

"I pinched a nerve, dumkopf, calm yourself." The Medic replied, smoothing out his bloody labcoat. "You vill get zat arm back in a couple hours. You are velcome, by ze vay, for your healed vounds."

"A couple hours?" The Scout cried. "I'm missing an arm for _a couple hours?"_

"Zis specimen is more important zen your stupid arm, anyway." The Medic huffed. "Vithout running some tests on her..." his tone suddenly darkened. "I haf no vay of knowing vhether or not you are Infected. So please, hold your peace and try not to disturb me – or her – any further!"

The Scout's blood suddenly ran cold, as he took in what the Medic said. Infected? You mean I could be...?"

"Ja." The Medic nodded solemnly. "I'm going to need you to sit back down."

"I have to get out of here!" The Scout cried. The Medic took a step to the side – it was a subtle movement, but it instantly put him between the Scout and the only door.

The Scout glanced quickly down at his pistol, lying on the floor between the two men, and then looked up at the doctor, meeting his eyes.

"Please sit. I need to run some more tests." The Medic ordered. _Don't try it_, his expression said. Neither of the men made a move, and for a brief instant the only sounds came from the slavering, female doctor. Then, the Medic suddenly bent down for the pistol. The Scout was faster. He kicked the doctor, and then bent down and grabbed the pistol with his good hand. The Medic stumbled backward, catching himself on the cot before he could fall back into the hands of his hungry specimen. He recovered, pushing himself back on his feet, and found himself with the barrel of the pistol in his face.

"Thanks for fixin' me up, Doc," The Scout said, "but I guess this is where we part ways."

"Don't do anything, boy." The Medic warned. "Stay here, and let us help you. You won't last an hour out there on your own!"

"I'd rather die out there," The Scout gestured toward the door, "then rot of disease in here with your... pet!" The Scout kicked out with a leg, catching the door's push-panel with his foot. It swung open, and he backed out of the room. "Now, if you'll tell me where my bat-"

Suddenly, hands were on the Scout. He cried out as he felt the gun forced out of his grip yet again, and then his body was pinned within the confines of two large arms.

"Danke, my Slavic companion." The Medic said with a nod to the Heavy, who led the Scout back to the cot. The boy felt himself being forced down onto the bed, and he started kicking with his legs. The Heavy Weapons Guy didn't concede an inch, however.

"Help me!" The Scout cried. "Help me!"

"I am sorry, leetle friend." The Heavy sighed, while the Medic bound the boy to the table with leather straps.

"Wheel him down ze hall to ze X-Ray room." The Medic ordered. "Ve vill keep him in zhere while I operate on my _other specimen_."

The Scout immediately felt himself being wheeled out of the room. He was bound tightly, and could barely move his neck, especially with one dead shoulder. They rolled through what looked like a hospital, with clinical rooms on each side. The Scout saw a familiar face up ahead – the Sniper.

"Yo, Snipes, a little help here?"

The Sniper merely shook his head, and turned away.

The Heavy turned the cot, and wheeled the Scout into another room. "Don't move." He ordered gruffly, chuckling at his own joke as he turned and left the room. The door closed behind the Scout, and he was left in silence.

Outside the room, the Sniper reached out to grab the passing Heavy's shoulder. "The boy's going to get through this, right? Have you heard any news from the doctor?"

"Is not good," The Heavy replied, shaking his head. "Hope that the fast leetle man doesn't become fast leetle zombie."

The Heavy continued past the Sniper, who turned to look through the two-way mirror, at the Scout on the inside of the X-Ray room. "Poor little bugger." He muttered. The boy's only crime had been running to the aid of a distressed woman, upstairs. If the circumstances had been any different, then it would have been the Sniper in his place.

The Sniper leaned against the wall, looking down the hall in both directions. They were on the scientific testing floor, right beneath the offices. Similar to the offices, these hospital rooms were surrounded by a round hallway. There were only four through corridors on this floor, however, unlike the maze of aisles up above. To the Sniper's left side was the elevators that led both up, to the offices, and down, to whatever lay beneath. To the Sniper's right was a mini-Sentry, which the Engineer had configured out of the remains of his defunct Sentry gun. It beeped noisily, while a red light on top of it flashed.

The Sniper heard the elevator doors open, down the hall. He turned, and saw the Engineer, Demoman and Soldier emerging from within. The trio had gone back up to the business floor, to make sure that the entrance was properly barricaded.

"Everything tip-top, then?" The Sniper called to them.

"Like Fort Knox." The Soldier replied.

"Good." The Sniper nodded, as the three men approached him. "Now, according to our BLU spook friend, we are on the testing floor of this facility. If his Intel is correct-"

"And so far it hasn't been mistaken," The Engineer interjected.

"-Then the security floor is right beneath us, and that is where we need to go if we're going to disable the defences and grab that Intel."

The Engineer lowered his voice. "How's the Scout doing?"

The Sniper merely shook his head. The Engineer cupped his forehead in his palm, exhausted. "Poor kid."

"Spilt milk, mate." The Demoman sighed. "Let's just worry about keeping ourselves alive for now, eh?"

"Solid plan." The Soldier agreed, meeting the eyes of the other three men. "Let it be clear that this is _no place_ for making friends – it's every man for yourself, the slow and the weak get left behind! Pray that neither of you become slow or weak!"

"Where's the shape-shifter?" The Engineer asked.

"In holding," The Sniper replied. "where he bloody belongs!"

"We need the codes that he's holding." The Engineer said to the Sniper. "After we have those, and we're off this island, you can do what you want with him."

The Sniper pulled his kukri half out of its sheath, and hid a grin.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" The Soldier demanded. "Let's get a small party, and go disarm that security! Soon we'll be off this island, Intel in hand!"

"Thank God." The Engineer sighed. "I can wave goodbye to this uniform, and Reliable Excavations and Demolitions."

"Just keep your heads, wankers." The Sniper warned. "I don't want any of you lads to bite it down there."

"Sniper, go get the Spy." The Soldier ordered. "Engi, tell the Heavy to stay up here with the Medic and Scout! Then, come back and meet us!"

Both men nodded, and went off to their respective rooms. The Engineer opened the operating room door, recoiling in shocked horror as he was treated with the sight of a Medic who was wrist deep in his specimen's insides. The woman was still growling, even as the doctor slashed through her digestive system. The Heavy was leaning against the wall, across from his friend. The big man almost looked bored as he ate a sandwich.

"Vhat do you vant?" The Medic demanded distractedly, turning to the Engineer. The Texan was struggling to keep his last meal – sandwiches from the staff room – down.

"I – uh... We're heading down to the lower level." The Engineer replied. "You two just... keep doing what you're doing."

"Uh huh." The Medic looked over at his specimen. The woman continued to struggle against her bonds. "You are leaving ze Sentry up here?"

"Yeah." The Engineer turned to leave. Suddenly, he hesitated. "The Scout... is he bad?"

"Zhere is alvays hope." The Medic replied. "Maybe ze virus can't be transmitted by blood. Let us hope so, at least."

"Right." The Engineer nodded. "Thanks."

The Medic turned back toward the female doctor, ramming the Bone saw into her sternum. "Vhat secrets do you hold?" He demanded. The Engineer winced, and then exited the room.

Down the hall, the Sniper was opening the door to the Spy's prison. It was another operating room, with the Spy bound to the wall by leather straps similar to those that bound the Medic's sample. The Spy sagged in his bonds, catching the closest thing he could to rest, since he was unable to sit completely. He looked up when the door opened.

"We're going down, wanker." The Sniper said. The Spy smiled thinly. "Cut me loose."

The Sniper drew his kukri, and slashed the leather bonds. The two men walked to the elevators, where the Soldier grabbed the Spy roughly by the forearm. "You're coming with me, maggot!" He shouted into the saboteur's face.

The Sniper, Engineer, and Demoman watched as the elevator doors closed on the BLU Spy and RED Soldier.

"Whot d'ya think is down there, lads?" The Demoman asked.

The Engineer shook his head. "Zombies."

The Sniper snorted. "If we're lucky, mate." He muttered. "Pray zombies are the only thing we find! These Spectre blokes seem to be a twisted bunch of monsters!"

The Engineer turned to face the taller man. "Is RED any different?"

"You're really going to quit, aren't you?" The Sniper replied. The Engineer nodded. "I'm done with this. I'm resigning as soon as we make it home – if we make it home. I've earned enough money to live comfortably for a few years, while I start fresh."

"Money isn't everything, mate." The Demoman said, shaking his head. "Where in the civilian world are you gonna see sights like this? Never again will you smell the sulphur, or hear that beautiful _thud_ of an enemy's body parts raining around ya!"

"That sounds good to me." The Engineer replied.

The elevator doors opened before them. The Sniper made a sweeping motion into the elevator. "Our chariot awaits, mates."

The men stepped inside, and made their descent.

The doors of the elevator car opened to a dark, narrow hallway. There were open doorways on both sides, with dark, forbidding rooms beyond them. The Soldier and the Spy had already taken a few steps down the hall. The Soldier held his shotgun close, while the Spy looked poised to fight hand-to-hand against any threats that came his way.

"Alright," The Engineer said as the three of them stepped out of the car. "Where're we going?"

"The Intel should be at the end of this hallway." The Spy pointed down the hall, which ended in a large vault. The floor at the base of the vault was metal, and spanned for about ten feet. There was a blackened body, clad in an armoured vest, lying on the floor.

"That floor is electrified," The Spy said. "The only way to disarm it is by manually turning it off in the control room – that will be your job," The Spy nodded to the Engineer. "In that same room, you'll have access to Spectre's entire security grid, as well as all of the maps and surveillance footage of the facility.

"While you're in the control room, and the Soldier and I are grabbing the Intel – "

The Soldier growled at the thought of the Spy joining him in the Intel room. The Frenchman turned to him. "The people who made that Intel clearly don't want it to be seen by prying eyes. I'm sure there are other safeguards beyond that hatch that you'll need me to bypass. I'm going in with you."

"That means I'm going in, too." The Sniper snarled. The Spy sighed, almost sounding exasperated. "There is an armoury on this floor somewhere, I was going to suggest that you take the Demoman and go grab what weapons you can, after using the surveillance cameras to find out exactly where it is."

The Sniper stormed over to the Spy, and leaned in to him. "Don't play me for a fool, wanker." He whispered.

"Don't worry, Aussie! I can handle this puny, cowardly Frenchie!" The Soldier, who was still standing within earshot of the whisper, replied. Standing completely erect, the Soldier seemed to dwarf the Spy's thin frame, and didn't appear the least bit phased by the man. This did nothing to ease the Sniper's fears, however. If nothing else, it only served to stoke them further.

"It's a go, then." The Spy said, flashing another of his infuriating smirks. "This oafish Yankee and I will wait at the end of the hall." The Frenchman gestured up at a speaker that was hanging from the wall. "Tell us when you knock out the defences."

The Spy turned his back on the others, and then started to walk down the hall. The Soldier let out a grunt, pointed his shotgun straight up at the ceiling, and then followed.

"Well, boys," The Engineer muttered, pushing up his hardhat to rub his forehead, "let's go find us that control room."

The Engineer put his hands on both holstered pistols, which hung low on his belt like a cowboy's, and then led the Sniper and the Demoman down an intersecting hall. They stepped gingerly over the armoured body of a guard – the Sniper bent down and grabbed the man's submachine gun – and then came to another T-junction. It was the Sniper who chose the direction for them to go – right. There was a closed door at the end of this hallway, with a bright neon sign over top of it that read, "**CONTROL**". The Sniper pointed up at this sign, and the three men walked over to it. There were three more open doors to their right, between them and the control room.

Suddenly, something leapt out of one of the doors as the Demoman walked past, and knocked him into a wall. He cried out as it attacked him, and kicked out with his leg, knocking it to the ground. He had been in the vanguard of the mercenaries' procession, and both of his companions turned around to face this new threat.

The zombie clambered to his feet, but the Demoman slugged him across the face before he could rise completely. Blood flew from the Infected man's mouth, and he landed on his back. The Demoman put a booted foot on the man's head before he could recover, and then stomped. The Engineer and the Sniper both winced as the zombie's skull cracked, splattering brain matter all over the floor.

The Demoman looked up at both men, meeting their shocked and horrified stares with a chagrined smile and a shrug. "Nothin' to it, lads! Barroom boxing!" His smile turned sinister. "Scottish barroom boxing!"

From behind them, they suddenly heard snarls. The Demoman turned around, in time to see six more Infected guards rounding a corner, and charging straight at them.

The Engineer and the Sniper both opened fire with their weapons, but the low-velocity bullets couldn't puncture the zombies' bulletproof vests. The Sniper shifted his aim slightly, sending a burst of bullets through the head of the nearest zombie. He turned his gun on the second closest, and fired again, but the gun clicked impotently. The Sniper cursed, and dropped the weapon.

"Open the door!" The Engineer ordered, firing a bullet into a zombie's skull. The hallway was narrow, with only enough space for two zombies astride. The nearest ones were only a few feet away.

The Sniper tried the handle of the metal door, but it was locked. He cursed. The Engineer was still firing wildly, felling another zombie.

"Pick your targets, lad!" The Demoman exclaimed, while he retreated back to help the Sniper.

The Engineer fired a single shot, taking out another Infected man. They were close, now, and he began retreating backwards, firing as he did so. Behind him, the Engineer heard the Demoman smash through the door with his shoulder.

"Get in, mate!" The Sniper cried, and at the same time the Engineer's pistols clicked empty. He turned and bolted through the open door, hearing the cries of the Infected right behind him.

The door slammed behind him, and the other two men immediately leaned against it, bracing it. They could hear thumps on the other side.

"Slide something in front of it!" The Demoman cried, and the Engineer immediately moved a large desk in front of the door. The beating didn't subside outside.

"Those ghouls are bloody bulletproof!" The Sniper cried. The Engineer reloaded his pistols as he turned to the control panel, a massive desk that was absolutely crammed with buttons, with dozens of security monitors hanging from a wall before it. Through these monitors, the trio could see everything that was happening in Spectre. They were dismayed to see movement in almost all of the cameras; there were zombies everywhere. Sitting at the security panel was a man in blue coveralls, with large headphones covering his ears. His skin was grey, and he was slumped forward. Dead.

The Engineer shoved the deceased Spectre employee unceremoniously onto the floor, and took his seat at the controls.

He noticed a speaker switchboard, and immediately turned off all frequencies but the security floor one. "Soldier!" He said into the microphone, scanning the surveillance monitors. He immediately saw the Spy and the Soldier, leaning against the wall near the electrified floor. "Soldier, nod if you can hear me."

He saw both men look up toward the camera, and then the Soldier nodded vigorously.

"Alright. I'm turning the electrified floors off now." The Engineer hit a button on the desk. Through the camera, he saw the Soldier step gingerly onto the floor. When nothing happened, he took one more confident stride toward the vault, stepping over the corpse that was lying there. The Spy came up beside him, and immediately punched a code into a panel. The vault door swung open.

"Yes!" The Engineer hissed triumphantly, his eyes roving from the camera view of the door to the screen directly to its right, which revealed the Intel room itself. He watched as the Soldier and the Spy crossed the room, toward a three foot tall safe on a desk. The Spy immediately opened it with a combination. The safe door swung open, and that was when everything went wrong.

The Engineer couldn't see inside the safe from his camera angle, but judging by the expressions on the faces of the two men, he knew that it was empty. There was no Intel. The air in the doorway of the Intel room suddenly seemed to solidify, and take shape. Even before the man was completely out of his cloak, the Engineer knew that he was watching another Spy materializing behind the unsuspecting mercenaries, his left hand cuffed to a briefcase which undoubtedly held the Intel, his right hand curled around the handle of a butterfly knife. The new Spy began to cross the room.

The Engineer was startled by movement to his right, and turned to see the Sniper leaning over the microphone, cupping it in one hand, his mouth practically on top of it. "There's a blasted spook behind you!" He cried. Onscreen, RED and BLU both turned to face this new, ash-grey threat, and then the unidentified Spy reached out, flicking a nearby light switch, and everything onscreen went nearly pitch black.

The Engineer saw a large, silent muzzle flash onscreen, and knew that the Soldier had fired his shotgun. This was followed by two smaller muzzle flashes from across the room – the grey Spy's revolver. There was a third muzzle flash from the Spy, and an instant later the screen went fuzzy. He had shot out the camera.

"What's going on?" The Demoman demanded. "Whot th'ell do we do?"

"Turn the floors back on, mate!" The Sniper cried. "Don't let him get out!"

"What about the Soldier?" The Engineer replied.

"He can handle himself! Do it! Don't lose that Intel!"

The Engineer reached for the floor panel switch, when suddenly he felt an intense clamping on his right hand, followed by extreme pain. He started to scream.

The earphone-wearing control room guard whom the Engineer had tossed out of his seat had crawled, unnoticed, right up to the Texan and bit down on his right hand. The Engineer reached for one of his pistols with his left hand, but he was panicking. He couldn't get it out of the holster.

The Sniper acted almost instantly, whipping his kukri out of the scabbard on his back and bringing it down in one fluid motion, severing the zombie's head at the neck. It released its grip on the Engineer's hand, and rolled on the floor. The Engineer raised his right hand in front of his face, his mouth agape in silent horror. The zombie had bitten off three of his fingers – his middle finger, little finger, and ring finger (which had been bare of an actual ring ever since the day he started killing people). The Engineer tried to move his lips, and say something, but he was in total shock.

Suddenly, he felt a warm, chopping pain, and watched in uncomprehending shock as his right hand flew though the air, landing beside the head of the zombie who had bitten him.

The Sniper, finishing the swing that had amputated the Engineer's hand, immediately started tearing a sleeve off of his shirt to staunch the bleeding.

"Y-y-you cut my hand off!" The Engineer cried, tears rolling down his eyes past his goggles.

The Sniper didn't look up from cleaning the wound. "Demoman – whiskey!"

The Scot handed the marksman his half-empty whiskey bottle, and the Sniper poured it on the wound. The Engineer howled. Outside the control room, the Infected beat on the door a little more vigorously.

"Y-y-y-y-you c-cut..."

"Save it!" The Sniper snapped, tightly wrapping his torn, red sleeve around the Engineer's stump. "I may have just saved you from becoming one of them, now shut up and let me stem this blood flow!"

"My God..." The Demoman muttered. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph..." He was looking down at the Engineer's disembodied hand, the headless corpse, and the large pool of blood that surrounded both items.

"We have to get him upstairs!" The Sniper hissed, "He's losing consciousness, fast. Get those blasted zombies off that bloody door!"

The Demoman stared, slack-jawed, for a moment as he comprehended this information. Then he grinned, a deep, maniacal grin. "Stand back, Jimmy." He nearly shouted, raising the grenade launcher to face the door.

"No," The Sniper muttered, "no, no..." The room they were in was small, and square, and the Sniper immediately pulled the Engineer beneath the one object of shelter they had – the control desk. The entire room suddenly lit up, while shockwaves of deafening sound ripped through the Sniper's ears. The Demoman covered his face as the explosive fire engulfed him, and he disappeared from the Australian sharpshooter's sight. Then the fire subsided and the Sniper saw him, still standing in front of a now open doorway, his large vest having protected him from most of the explosive power. The area of hallway immediately outside was blackened with ash, and there were blood smears everywhere else. The Sniper pulled the semi-conscious Engineer to his feet, while watching an Infected head bounce down the hallway.

"Let's go!" The Demoman cried.

"I bloody hate you, you wanker!" The Sniper cried, struggling to hear past his own ringing ears. The three men hurried back toward the elevator, the Sniper dragging the Engineer along.

They ran into resistance on their first left; two Infected immediately started charging down the hall at them. The Sniper reached awkwardly into one of the Engineer's holsters, pulling out his pistol and firing. He overcompensated the weapon's light weight, and his first shot was low. The second was a perfect headshot on the nearest zombie. The Demoman charged the other Infected man, and punched him in the head hard enough to knock him into the wall. The zombie's head cracked.

They turned another corner, and found themselves back at the elevator. The Demoman pushed the button to call it, and the doors opened. The Demoman got in. The Sniper handed the Engineer over to the Scotsman. "Take him upstairs, mate." The Sniper said.

"Where d'you think you're going?" The Demoman demanded. The Sniper peered over his shoulder, at the open vault of the Intel room. "I need to check something. In case I never see you again, you should know... you're a bloody madman!" The Sniper stepped back in time to avoid the closing elevator doors, and then he heard the elevator car going up. He turned toward the Intel vault. He was armed only with a pistol and his kukri, and he was suddenly alone.

The Sniper walked down the hall, toward the Intel room, hesitating only momentarily before stepping on the metal floor. As he had expected, it wasn't electrified. He crossed into the Intel room, and flicked on the light.

"Holy hell..."

Blood was spattered all over the Intel room. The Soldier was lying on the ground, propped against the desk. His helmet was off – there was a large dent in it where he had taken a bullet. A small trickle of blood was running down his head from a wound, right beneath the hairline of his blonde crew-cut. That wasn't his only wound, however. There was much more blood on his trench coat, and a small hole in his left pant leg, near the ankle, where he had either been shot, or stabbed. The large American was still breathing.

There was another man in the other corner – the BLU Spy, his left hand in his blood-spattered jacket. The Sniper immediately pointed the pistol at the Frenchman. "You armed?" He demanded. "Put your hand where I can see it, you snake! Slowly, now!"

"I'm unarmed, you insufferable idiot!" The Spy spat, "Quite literally!" He pulled his left arm out of his jacket, revealing that it had been cut off at the wrist. The hem of the jacket sleeve was pulled back, and the sleeve of his shirt was torn off and used as a bandage.

"You were bit?" The Sniper demanded. "You're infected!"

"No, it was cut off!" The Spy reached for a cigarette with his good hand, but for once he was far from composed. "That cheap-suited amateur lopped it right off!"

The Sniper looked over his shoulder. "Where is he now?"

"I think the Soldier wounded him! He ran off with the Intelligence! Tell me – did you turn off the Air Defence System?"

The Sniper thought for a second. "No. No, we didn't."

The Spy let out a sigh of relief, and walked across the room, sitting on the desk beside the Soldier. He took a drag of his cigarette, reached up with his left arm to flick it, and then dropped the arm again. "Good, then things aren't as bad as I feared." He halted suddenly, as if thinking of something, and then asked, "Why didn't you turn it off?"

"We ran into some problems. Engi's wounded."

"Infected?" The Soldier piped up, suddenly.

"Couldn't tell you, mate." The Sniper buried his head in one hand. "This is a bad situation we find ourselves in, and it's getting worse with every minute! Can you walk?"

"Of course I can walk!" The Soldier shouted indignantly. "Do you think I'm some sissy lady who needs – AAAAAGH!" He stood up, and the other two men heard a loud crack as he fell back down on his bad leg. The Sniper started helping him up again, but he declined assistance. "No, I'm fine. Just give me..." He looked around, saw his shotgun, and immediately began using it as a cane. He began walking toward the door, greatly favouring his good leg, and yet wincing in pain with every step.

The Sniper followed him out the door. Right before he left the room, however, he felt a hand on his shoulder. The Spy.

"I want a weapon."

"Too bad, weasel!"

"Your stubbornness will get us both killed. If I'd had my weapons back there, then maybe neither of us would have been wounded!" He gestured to the Soldier. Not long ago, the American had been one of the most efficient killers on the team. Now he was a burden.

The three of them made their way to the elevator, and the Sniper called it.

"What happens now?" The Soldier asked, while they waited. "That cowardly Frenchie got away with the Intelligence!"

"He's got nowhere to go." The Spy replied, blowing smoke into the air. "We just need to get to the helicopter before him, which we now have time to do. He's going to go shut off the defence system."

"How do you know that?" The Sniper demanded.

"Because that's what _I_ would do."

"What's taking this bloody elevator so long?" The Sniper muttered, looking up at the light-up buttons above the door. According to them, the elevator was descending from the very top; the office floors. "What in the name of Sheila was it doin' up on the top floor? I want to get out of here before anymore of us buy it."

The Soldier grunted at this. The Spy turned his back on the elevator door, taking a final drag of his cigarette before flicking it away with his right hand. "Gentlemen, the game is now cat and mouse. That enemy Spy had his weapons on him – I'm forced to assume that he had a disguise kit, as well." The Spy looked over his shoulder, staring into the eyes of the Soldier and Sniper. "Trust no one. Divide and conquer, that's how we work. If he finds a way into your trusted little circle of REDs, then that gets him closer to me, and I can't have that." The Spy turned back around. "For God's sake, you oafs, _do not let your guard down_!"

_BING_

The Sniper and the Soldier were standing on either side of the doors, and both of them had their backs to the elevator car. However, they saw the look of sudden, total shock and horror on the Spy's face clear enough.

"_Merde_!" The Spy muttered, and suddenly a jet of fire shot out from within the elevator car, obscuring the Spy from the vision of the Sniper and Soldier. They could hear his screams, however – starting loud, but immediately growing raspier as the constant stream of combustion blazed into him, evaporating all liquid in his body. After a moment they could make out a shape – a flaming shape – fleeing down the hall. It made it only a few steps, before falling face-first on the floor. The Spy's skin was black, his suit was burnt and blackened, and the smell of crispy flesh invaded the nostrils of the two shocked REDs.

"_Mmmmf mmmmmf!"_

The Sniper and the Soldier peered into the elevator car. There was the RED Pyro, flamethrower waving above his head in triumph.

The Soldier stepped into the elevator. The Sniper doffed his hat, held it to his chest for a brief second, and then spat on the ground. He joined his teammates. The elevator closed, and the BLU Spy's body was gone from their sights and minds.


	6. Escape  Part 1

_I apologize for the long upload time - this was meant to be a summer project, but reception to it was better than I expected so I ended up making it much longer than I had planned. I have the rest of the story mapped out in my head now, I just need to write it and proof it - a process that takes a week at the quickest, but will probably be closer to two (numbuh-sixsixtysix's much appreciated criticisms have pushed me to make my stories as immaculate as possible, although all reader suggestions have helped to shape the plot). Thanks to all my readers, including the ones who don't have time/ care to comment. It's my encouraging story traffic reports that drive me to update as frequently as possible._

"Oh, shit." The Scout muttered, struggling against his bonds and craning his head to watch as the Demoman dragged in a pale, unconscious Engineer. Droplets of blood were falling from the Texan's bandaged stump of a right hand. "What happened?"

The Demoman laid the Engineer down on a second cot beside the Scout, and pulled the man's hardhat off his head, laying it beside the pillow.

"What the hell happened?" The Scout repeated, his voice cracking slightly.

"He was bit," The Demoman replied.

"_Bit_? Is he..." The Scout's voice tapered off; he couldn't even bear _speaking_ the word "Infected".

"The Medic has a blood sample," The Demoman replied. "We'll know soon enough."

"What about the others? Sniper, Soldier, what about – dammit, Demo, can you untie me, please?"

"Can't do that, lad. The Soldier and the Spy were attacked, I don't know if they're alive. I left the Sniper downstairs, to check on them."

"Aw, geez!" The Scout renewed his efforts to break out of his bonds, but the leather straps were too tight. "This is bad, this is _sooo_ freakin' bad, bruddah! You gotta get me out of here, man!"

"You aren't going anywhere," The Demoman growled. "Not yet, at least, not until we get all of this figured out." The Scotsman turned away from the Scout, and then walked toward the door. The young Bostonian looked over at the Engineer, lying beside him. The Texan's skin was pallid and grey, and his mouth was slack. The Scout could only see his own reflection in the man's goggles: a young man, his brown hair in disarray, naked from the waist up and unarmed. The younger man couldn't be sure if his comrade's complexion was due to blood loss, or if the man was indeed turning. The Engineer was not bound to the bed, as the Scout was. If the Texan indeed did change, then the Bostonian was a dead man. He let out a sob of exasperation; at himself for signing up for this mission, at his team for imprisoning him, and finally exasperation at the whole damn situation he was in. He turned his head away from the Engineer, and looked up at the ceiling.

"Don't turn, Hardhat." The Scout muttered, the phrase as much a request as it was a prayer. "Don't turn, pallie, please don't turn, you're my friend, don't turn..."

"_You've got some bloody explainin' to do, wanker!"_

_Rough hands on his shoulders; it is the Russian. The Pyro is shoved down into a seat, in what appears to be a conference room. The Cyclops takes his flamethrower, and walks across the room with it. The Pyro's head turns to follow; he doesn't take his eyes off of his coveted weapon._

_It's the Marksman who spoke to him. The Marksman is on the opposite side of the table, leaning with both outstretched palms on the metal surface._

"_You heard the man, you maggot!" The Ranger adds; he is standing behind the Marksman, and while his posture is good, the Pyro can tell that he is in intense physical pain. "What in tarnation are you doing in Spectre? How did you get in here?"_

"_And why did you fry our best ticket out of here?" The Cyclops demands. The Pyro leans back in his chair – he can't relax with the fire – his _livelihood –_ so far away, but at least he can play the part. He clasps his gloved hands on the tabletop, and struggles to refrain from twiddling his thumbs. He has never seen the team like this; they are edgy. They aren't like his team at all, and he is afraid – not for his life, but for his craft. He fears they won't give back his fire. His flare gun is still holstered on his belt, and he wagers he can get a single shot off before the team reacts. They aren't taking his fire from him._

_A single shot would be useless, however, and it wouldn't get his flamethrower back. The image of the burning island seems much farther away now. The Pyro would cry, if he still had working tear ducts. This confrontation doesn't need to end violently, however. He has one other option – co-operation._

_The Pyro turns to the Ranger, and tells his story, beginning with his awakening on the beach. As he speaks, he turns to face the others, his eyes lingering on the flamethrower. He waves his hands wildly as he tries to articulate everything that happened. He mentions the RED Spy, the BLU plane, the mysterious grey Spy, and finally the helicopter, although he leaves out his plans to blow it up. The team wouldn't be interested in those plans, he decides. Lastly, he explains his arrival in Spectre, his hunt for gasoline, and finally his chance encounter with the late BLU Spy._

_The story lasts ten minutes, and none of the REDs speak during his telling; they merely stare in slack-jawed wonder. Finally, the Pyro clasps his hands in front of him again, and falls silent, his tale told._

"_What?" The Ranger asks, after a few seconds of absolute silence. The Marksman buries his face in his palm. "Bloody freakin' hell, we don't have time for this!"_

_It is immediately clear to the Pyro that not a single man on the team understood a word that he had said, his voice was so muffled by his mask._

"_Leetle bug will eat his mask." The Heavy growled, punching his right fist into his left hand._

_The Ranger advances a shambling step, raising his shotgun to bear on the Pyro's face. "Just tell me one thing, you mutant freak!" He growls. "Why did you emerge from that elevator car with guns blazing? You could have killed all of us!"_

_The Pyro's answer is short, and simple, and he can tell that everybody understands him when he says, "Spy check."_

_Contrary to the Pyro's expectations, the Marksman actually laughs._

"_Bloody spook got what he deserved!" The Aussie says. "It's just a shame that I wasn't the one to pull the trigger! We don't need him anymore, anyway. He already opened all the access doors for us!"_

"_Now we just have that other Spy to contend with," The Ranger replies. Both men turn to look at the Pyro, and he sees suspicion in their eyes. At that moment, however, the conference room door opens. The Doctor sticks his head in._

"_Sniper, Soldier, Demo, come with me."_

"_Don't move," The Ranger orders,jabbing a thumb into the Pyro's face, and the three men leave the room with the Doctor. The flamethrower goes with them, and the Pyro is alone with the Russian, standing across the room. The Pyro places his hands flat on the table, and starts to rise from his chair. The Russian makes a throat-slitting motion with his finger, and the Pyro sits back down. They stare at each other for a minute, and then the Russian pulls a sandwich from inside his vest, and the conference room is filled with the sound of chomping._

"What is it?" The Sniper asked, as the four men entered the Medic's operating room. The man couldn't help but cringe at the splayed, disembowelled woman who was still bound to the wall by her wrists. Although her entire torso had been hollowed out, and her heart was sitting on a dissecting tray nearby, she still growled. It was as if she didn't know she was supposed to be dead.

The Medic gestured to three vials on a nearby counter, each one holding a thick, red liquid. "Ze virus, vhatever it is, is unlike anything I have ever seen! I have done some research while you were... downstairs, and I dug up some of ze papers for zis virus. Zhey call it ze Rage Virus, in its most common strain, although numerous new strains – or mutations, if you vill – have also been created. Zat thing zat attacked ze Scout, ze thing you called a _Witch_..." the Medic nodded at the Sniper, "vas a little side-job zat ze great minds of Spectre named ze Medusa Project, and zhere are other such mutations." The Medic raised a thin, manila folder filled with paper. "Zis folder tells of many more projects-"

"What about the Scout and Engineer?" The Demoman demanded. The Medic pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Right. If you vould direct your attention to zhese vials."

The other three turned to look at the vials of blood, and the Medic picked one of them up. "Ze Rage Virus is communicable through shared fluids, such as bites and blood spatters. From vhat evidence I have collected, I have deduced zhat zis virus kills its host, and zhen reanimates it. Ze only vay to truly stop zhem is to destroy, or sever, ze brain."

"And where does this leave our wounded friends?" The Sniper asked.

"Patience," The Medic replied with a glare. "Zis is ze blood of my specimen." The Medic raised the vial that he held. The blood inside was a dark red. The Medic turned the bottle upside down, but no blood poured out.

"It has coagulated." The Medic explained. "Zis is ze blood of a dead person." He tossed the vial into a corner, and it shattered. The Medic picked up the second vial. "Zis is the Scout's blood, one hour after he vas attacked." The Medic upended the bottle, and the three others watched as bright, red blood spattered onto the floor between the doctor's feet. "As you can see, it is ze blood of a live specimen."

"Does that mean..." The Sniper began.

"Ze boy is clean," The Medic replied with a grimace, and a nod.

"Thank God," The Demo muttered.

"Not so fast." The Medic replied, picking up the third vial. Even from a distance, the Sniper could see that the red liquid in this bottle was much darker. "No..." He felt his heart sink.

"Zis sample vas taken a mere ten minutes after ze bite occurred, according to witness accounts." The medic nodded at the Demoman, who grunted. "It is ze blood of ze Engineer." The Medic turned the vial over and, as the others feared, nothing poured out. The blood had coagulated, just like the Medic's infected specimen.

The Demoman had been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Now he straightened up. "What do we do now?"

The Sniper placed one hand against the wall, and put his weight on it, hanging his head. "What we need to, mate."

"Bloody 'ell, you want to kill the man?" The Demo exclaimed. "He's a comrade, a teammate!"

"Keep your voice down!" The Medic hissed. "No sense in causing a panic!"

"We don't have a choice," The Soldier said sombrely. "It's a damn shame, he was a fine man." The Soldier raised his shotgun.

"Sooner vould be better zhan later." The Medic told the American, and he nodded.

"He's our teammate!" The Demoman tried to reason. "You've all been fighting beside him for years!"

"I'm getting off this island, mate." The Sniper replied. "And while I don't like the idea of leaving a good man like him behind, I don't see that we have any other options!"

"If hard-hatted man is dead, who will fly helicopter?"

All four men turned to the door, and saw the Heavy standing there.

There was a moment of silence, as all four men turned to look at one another. Then the Demo said, "I can fly it. I have flown helicopters for fun back home."

The Soldier snorted. "A one-eyed pilot?"

"I'd prefer a cyclopic pilot," The Sniper replied, "to a zombie pilot."

"Zhen it's settled. Demoman, you vill drive ze helicopter!"

"Bloody hell," The Demoman muttered again, reaching into his pocket for the whiskey bottle. The Sniper immediately snatched the bottle, shaking his head at the Scot. "You'd best be soberin' up, mate."

The Soldier took a step toward the exit door, leaning against the wall to support his broken leg. "Well, let's get this sad affair over with."

"I'm not ready to die yet, man, ya know?" The Scout said to the back of the Engineer's head. The Texan was currently sitting on a stool at a counter, his toolbox in front of him. The Scout couldn't see what the Engineer was doing, but he didn't care. As long as the man was tinkering, chances were that he wasn't a zombie. "I mean, this ain't my life! It's Jarhead's life, and the Fatty's life, and probably even the Drunkard's life, but it's not my life! My life is back home, in Boston, with my Ma, and my bruddahs!"

The Engineer grunted in acknowledgement, but didn't look up from his work.

"I have a girl, you know." The Scout said. "Aw, geez, she's beautiful, too. If only you could see her, Hardhat, she'd drop ya damn jaw, if you know what I'm saying! I had to fight for her, too. You see, she was Johnny's girl, but he didn't treat her right, and..."

The Scout talked on, watching the back of the Engineer's head all the while. The older man had put his hardhat back on, and only the back of his grey neck was visible to the Scout. The younger man wasn't sure, but he thought that the skin was looking greyer than it had been ten minutes earlier.

"So I said, 'hey, you dumb oaf, you gonna hit on a woman, try some of dis! BONK!' and I hit him with my bat, that's how it got dat dent in it. Me and Lola, we moved in together, but I didn't have enough money to support us, and there aren't many good jobs out there for a dropout, so I got to thinkin', 'hey Tony, you're a fast guy, I hear the people at RED are lookin' for some couriers', except this ain't turned out to be no courier job-"

"Are you a praying man, son?"

"What?"

"I asked if you were a praying man." The Engineer was speaking extremely slowly, his drawl being drawn out even more than usual.

"Well, of course I pray! We're Catholic boys, my bruddahs and I, although I haven't been to church in-"

"Well, pray harder." The Engineer said, "Cause it sure as hell ain't workin'." He turned and vomited onto the floor next to his stool.

"Woah!" The Scout cried. "Jeez, you alright?"

The Engineer swivelled around in his chair, facing the Scout. The first thing that the boy noticed was the man's arm stump – it had been replaced by a metal bracket. Nestled in the bracket was a metal, robotic hand.

"Like it?" The Engineer asked sombrely. His face was grey, the skin wan and sagging. "My own invention, about a month ago. It was meant to be a replacement limb for war amputees – my own patent. It would have made me rich. Never in a thousand years did I think I'd be using it on myself." The fingers on the robotic hand curled, clenching and unclenching experimentally as the Engineer got a feel for his new appendage.

"I think you should untie me, Hardhat." The Scout said, swallowing the fear that was welling in his throat. The Texan sighed. "Yeah, son, you're right." With his new hand, the Engi reached up and removed his helmet. "But first, I need you to promise me something."

"Anything, bruddah." The Scout said with a nod.

"You aren't the only one who put life on hold for this job." The Engineer reached into the pocket of his overalls, and retrieved a photo, sealed in plastic. He showed the photo to the Scout.

It was a family portrait, taken on a farm. The Scout could tell that the picture was old; the colour had washed out, giving the entire image a sepia tone. There were two girls in the photo, aged perhaps eight and ten, grinning from ear to ear. Behind them was a tall, thin, attractive woman with brown hair, braided down the sides. She wore a white shirt, and blue overalls. Beside her was a broad-shouldered man, with an arm around her, wearing a red, plaid-shirt beneath overalls of his own. He had on his head a large, white cowboy hat, and there was a piece of straw sticking out of his mouth. The Scout's gaze was immediately drawn to the man's eyes, which seemed to smile all on their own. It didn't take the Scout long to realize he was looking at the Engineer.

"This is my family, three years ago," The Engineer said. "This is the last time I saw them. They think I'm working on an oil rig, in Kansas, which is for the best, I suppose." The Engineer coughed out a spatter of blood. It landed on the Scout's bare stomach. The boy glanced at it, and noticed that it was a different colour than normal blood – darker, and much thicker.

"Sorry about that, son. You could probably assume that I don't want them to know what I do for a living – I don't want my girls to know that Daddy is a manufacturer of cold-blooded killing machines. I've been wiring them money for years, but RED doesn't have any kind of dead peasant policy for its employees. If I die, then my family is going to starve. Plain and simple."

"Can you please get me out of these straps, man?"

"Sure thing, son, but first you have to promise me: when you get off this island, you'll find my family, and tell them that I died in some kind of oil rig explosion."

"Sure thing, bruddah."

"That's not the hard part, son, that's not the part you need to listen to. Now _take this to heart_, because what I'm saying is important. I've taken out a large insurance policy on my property. On the night that you go to see my family, I want you to raze those crops to the ground. The barn, too. Everything but the house."

"Okay."

"Burn it."

The Scout nodded, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. He wasn't sure if there was any insurance policy on the house, or if Hardhat was just losing his mind. With his normal hand, the Engineer had begun scratching at his neck, and chunks of grey flesh scraped away on his fingers. With his other hand, the Engineer gripped his goggles, and pulled them off his face.

The Scout gasped out loud as he stared into the Texan's eyes. The pupils had gone grey, while the whites of his eyes had faded to a sickly yellow.

"Hardhat... you gotta let me go."

The Engineer didn't reply. He was staring right at the Scout, and yet his eyes had an unfocused quality, as if he was staring _through_ the Scout. His mouth opened slightly, and drool dribbled out of one side. The only sound was an insistent tapping; one of the Engineer's robot fingers was drumming steadily on his lap, although the Scout couldn't be sure if that was the Engineer's own doing or a slight mechanical tic.

"Ah, cripes!" The Scout muttered. "Oh, no, no, no... Hardhat, you die on me?"

A moan escaped from the man's lips, and the Scout immediately redoubled his efforts to escape, rocking back and forth in his cot as he tried in vain to loosen the leather bonds that held him, not taking his eyes off the other man.

The Engineer straightened up his posture, slightly, and his eyes focused back on the Scout's face.

"HELP!" The Scout screamed at the door. "Someone help me!"

"Stop..."

"SNIPES! SOLLY! MEDIC!"

"Boy, be quiet..." The Engineer slurred, and the Scout turned back to him in surprise. The Engineer was struggling to rise to his feet on stiff limbs. "I'm not dead yet." The Engineer took one final look at the family picture, and placed it on the Scout's chest. Then he started undoing the younger man's bonds.

"Thanks, man." The Scout said. His voice faltered as the Engineer's dead eyes turned back to him. "I'll do what you asked, I promise."

The straps fell limply to the floor, and the Scout immediately jumped up out of the cot, quickly backing toward the door, and trying the knob. It was locked from the other side. The Scout began to pound on the door with his fist.

The door swung open, and the Medic stepped inside with the Sniper and the Soldier behind him. The Soldier immediately collapsed against the nearest wall. His face was beady with sweat, and he was breathing heavily from the pain in his leg. He held his shotgun level, however, at the Engineer's chest.

"So you're going to kill me?" The Engineer asked. The Sniper immediately removed his hat, placing it on the counter beside him.

"We're sorry, mate, but we can't let you leave this island. It's nothing personal."

"You're killing him?" The Scout exclaimed. "Medic, isn't there something you can do?"

The Medic shook his head. "Ze hard hatted man is already dead, boy. He vas dead from ze moment he was bit."

The Engineer immediately brought his good hand to his chest, feeling it through his overalls. "I don't have a heartbeat," he muttered, with surprisingly little emotion in his voice.

"Bloody hell, wanker, look at those eyes!" The Sniper cried.

"You were a good man!" The Soldier declared, cocking his shotgun. "A credit to your team, your country, and your profession!"

"I can't look." The Demoman muttered, turning and leaving the room.

The Engineer, sitting on the edge of the cot, crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I understand completely, Soldier." He said to the man. He turned to the Scout. "Remember what we talked about."

"Aw, man." The Scout wailed. "Solly, you can't do this! Snipes! You gotta talk some sense into him, man!"

"We aren't bad people, Scout." The Sniper replied. "But this needs to be done, if we're going to get out of here."

The Soldier brought one hand up to his forehead in a salute. The Medic dipped his head, and the Sniper held his hat to his chest.

"Make it quick." The Engineer requested.

The Soldier levelled the shotgun, pointing it at the Engineer's head. The bald Texan closed his yellow eyes, and the Soldier put his finger on the trigger. The Scout turned his head away, to avoid the sight of the man's execution, and that was when he saw the photograph.

It was lying on the floor, beneath the Soldier's feet. Two small girls, smiling, who by now would almost be in their teenage years. An attractive, loving wife, who possessed a kind of country charm that was visible even by photo. And, finally, a grinning man, with a friendly face that was deceptively simple for all of the university PhD's that he had under his belt, a smile that belonged in the checkout line-up at the Farmer's Market – a smile that was the last thing many Spies would see.

The lights went out, and everything went pitch black. The Scout let out a cry of surprise as the Engineer disappeared from his sight. A second later, the muzzle flash from the Soldier's shotgun lit the room up again. The Scout saw the Engineer go flying backward, off the cot, his metal hand clacking mechanically as he fell.

"What's going on?" The Scout demanded. The Soldier immediately opened the door, and they stepped out into the hallway.

The mini-Sentry rested in the hallway, still beeping loudly. Its red light illuminated the entire hallway, casting a blood-red hue upon the white walls.

The Sniper removed his glasses, squinting to grow accustomed to the lighting. They could see the Heavy, Demoman and Pyro down the hall. The Pyro had been given his flamethrower back.

"Where'd the lights go?" The Scout asked.

"It's the Spy," The Sniper replied. "It must be."

"He didn't just cut the air defense system," The Demoman growled. "The whole damn grid is offline!"

They heard a rattling sound coming from the elevator, and the seven men turned to face it. The elevator shaft doors were open, but the car wasn't there.

"Pyro, follow me," The Sniper ordered, creeping toward the elevator shaft. He heard growls as he stepped nearer. The Pyro followed.

Both men stepped up to the edge of the elevator shaft, looking down into the darkness.

"Shoot a flare down there, will you, mate?"

The Pyro drew his flare gun, and fired. The flare shot down the elevator shaft, immediately illuminating dozens of squirming, wriggling forms climbing along the walls. Countless yellow eyes snarled up at the pair; zombies were climbing the walls of the shaft.

"Bloody hell," The Sniper muttered. Turning, he shouted back, "Incoming!"

Both men hurried away from the elevator shaft.

"Aw man!" The Scout cried. "What do we do?"

"We need to get upstairs!" The Sniper replied. "And that means that we're going to have to climb." He turned to look at the Soldier. The American winced at the thought of the climb.

The first of the Infected popped his head out from the shaft, and the mini Sentry chirped as it locked onto him. It fired three shots, and the head disappeared in a mess of brain matter.

A second zombie was climbing out of the elevator duct. She got halfway out before the Sentry turned on her – the woman's body jerked spasmodically as bullets tore into her, knocking her backwards into the shaft.

More Infected were crawling into the hallway, faster than the Sentry could take them out. The Heavy started spinning his minigun, and opened a salvo of bullets on the attackers.

"We have to get upstairs!" The Sniper cried.

"Demo, Pyro, blast 'em out of there!" The Soldier commanded. The Demoman fired three grenades, lobbing them over the heads of the oncoming Infected and into the elevator shaft. Seconds later, the mercenaries heard the grenades exploding.

The mini Sentry started clicking as its ammunition was depleted, and the Heavy ceased his volley of bullets. At that moment, the Pyro charged forward. He stepped over the fallen corpses of the Infected, and used his compression blast to send two Infected guards through the duct doors, and down the harrowing drop. The Pyro leaned over the edge, looking down, and sent a stream of fire into the yellow eyes that looked up at him. Burning people fell off the edge of the shaft, into the abyss below. A few of the flaming zombies managed to ignite other Infected on their way down.

"Let's go, let's go!" The Scout cried, as soon as the shaft was clear.

"We have to climb! Now!" The Sniper said with a nod. "Scout, Medic, go up first!"

The Scout and the Medic hurried to the elevator shaft, and shimmied over to a service ladder that led up to the office level. They started to ascend; first the Scout, and then the Medic.

"Pyro, you next!" The Sniper cried. The Pyro slung his flamethrower over his shoulder, and then started climbing.

The Sniper squinted down into the darkness of the elevator shaft. He could vaguely see the glow of yellow eyes, faintly illuminated by the red Sentry light. He fired an arrow into the nearest set of eyes, and watched as a flailing figure fell back down into the depths of Spectre.

"Heavy!" The Sniper called. "You're next!"

"I cannot climb!" The Heavy replied. "I cannot leave Sasha!"

The Demoman fired another grenade into the elevator shaft. The Sniper watched as the bright blue pipe bomb bounced off the walls, exploding twenty feet down and sending six zombies tumbling down.

"Bloody hell, you stupid wanker, you can and you will!"

The Heavy shook his head. "Demoman, you go! I will cover retreat!"

The Demoman shot one more grenade. It struck the shoulder of a zombie and exploded on impact, sending body parts flying everywhere. The Demoman pulled the trigger again, but the weapon clicked – empty. The Demoman reached for another grenade in his vest, but he was out. Cursing, he tossed the grenade launcher away and started climbing the ladder.

The Sniper put one foot up on the bottom rung of the ladder, looking up at his climbing teammates. "Soldier?"

"I'm staying behind, too!" The Soldier replied. "I can't climb on this leg!"

The Sniper nodded, expecting this answer. "It's been a slice, wanker." He said, patting the Soldier's arm. "Give them what for!"

"For RED!" The Soldier shouted. The Sniper grimaced, and then squeezed the man's shoulder. "For the world, mate."

An arm reached out of the elevator shaft, grabbing the Sniper's leg. The Soldier fired his shotgun into the slavering face of the arm's owner, a middle-aged female corpse who freefell back into the darkness.

The Sniper started climbing the ladder, casting one last glance down at the two men he was leaving behind. The muzzle flashes of the Soldier and the Heavy lit up the elevator shaft down below, and the Sniper could see dozens more zombies clambering up from the bottom levels. He didn't know what floodgates the Spy had opened when he disabled the power, but it seemed like the entirety of Spectre's payroll was closing upon the two men.

The Sniper climbed higher, until the near-constant sounds of gunfire were almost inaudible, and that's when he heard the _click-click-click_ of an empty minigun.

"OH NOOOO!" The Heavy shouted, and the Sniper craned his neck to try to see them down below.

"Show these maggots no quarter, you Commie bastard!" The Soldier shouted, followed by the sounds of shotgun blasts, although soon even these faded into the depths. The Sniper continued his climb.

He looked up at the office-level elevator opening, just a few feet up, and saw the Demoman's head peering over the edge. The Demoman held out a hand, and the Sniper clasped it. The Scotsman pulled the Sniper up, into the claustrophobic, cubicled offices. The Scout, the Pyro and the Medic were standing nearby.

"Vhere is Heavy?" The Medic asked. The Sniper merely shook his head. "We're all that's left, mate."

"Come on, let's go, let's go!" The Scout exclaimed. "They're right behind us!"

"He's right," The Demoman agreed. "Let's go stop that sneakin' bastard from escaping in our helicopter!" The Pyro mumbled something, and then stuck up a thumb approvingly.

The Scout started running down the corridor, with the Demoman and Pyro close behind. The Sniper moved to follow, and then saw the Medic standing at the elevator shaft.

"You alright, mate?" The Sniper asked.

The Medic said nothing for a second, simply staring down the elevator shaft into the darkness. Then, finally, he turned. "Let's go!" He cried. "_Raus_!"

They ran down the corridor, seeing the Scout and Demo up ahead of them. They watched as the Scout stumbled over something, rose to his feet, picked up the offending object – his bat – and then continued to run, swinging the metal club over his head.

The Heavy lowered Sasha gently down onto the floor at his feet, and then punched his right fist into his open left hand. "MY FISTS ARE MADE OF STEEL!"

"Give 'em hell!" The Soldier replied, reloading his shotgun as both men backed farther into the hallway. "This is my world, you maggots!

Two zombies climbed into the hallway. The Soldier fired his shotgun, hitting one of them in the shoulder and sending him back over the edge. "YOU ARE NOT WELCOME IN MY WORLD!" He cocked the shotgun, and shot the other one in the leg. The corpse crumpled to the floor, crawling on his hands toward the pair. The Soldier raised one of his steel-toed Gunboats, and crushed the Infected man's head when he neared. More zombies were already pouring into the hallway, however – at least eight of them packed the corridor, charging toward the pair. The Soldier fired two more quick shots, as both men backed up. They passed the Engineer's mini Sentry, which was still beeping loudly, its bright red light flashing.

"If God wanted you alive, he wouldn't have created me!" The Soldier shouted, emptying his shotgun into the faces of the Infected. The Heavy charged forward, swinging his fists and sending the much smaller zombies crashing backwards.

"IT'S GOOD TIME TO RUN, COWARDS!" The Heavy shouted, breaking a zombie's nose on his fist, before picking up a second one and throwing him into a room. The zombies surrounded him, biting and scratching at his bare arms.

"I AM INVINCIBLE!" The Heavy cried, and the Soldier watched as zombies tried to crawl all over him. The Russian man charged forward, arms out, shoving the zombies back toward the elevator shaft. One zombie woman leapt onto his shoulders, and bit his ear off. With a rousing war cry, the Heavy pushed even harder, and the Soldier watched as he toppled over the edge of the elevator shaft, dragging five zombies with him.

The Soldier planted his feet firmly on the ground, squaring off in front of the elevator. "You think you can outdo me, maggot?" He demanded, throwing the shotgun aside and unclasping a grenade from his belt. He pulled the pin on the grenade with his teeth, as zombies climbed into the hallway, loping right at him, their yellow eyes glowing red with the light of the mini Sentry.

The Soldier felt the first of them plough into him, but he held his ground, even as its teeth tore painfully into his shoulder.

"I joined this team to kill maggots like you!" The Soldier shouted, punching his fist into the air. His vision was suddenly obscured by white light, and he felt the ripping sensations in his body stop. He heard the explosion an instant later, and then he no longer heard anything at all.

The Scout hurried through the open hatch door, into the fenced-off, paved helicopter liftoff area. "I never thought I'd see the sky again!" He cried, looking up at the moon.

"Look!" The Demoman cried, pointing. The helicopter's blades were slowly spinning, and its cockpit door was open. A man was standing beside the helicopter. He wore a blood-stained, pin-striped suit and matching mask. The fingers of his left hand were curled around a cigarette. In his right hand, the Spy held a revolver.

"No," The Medic muttered, upon sight of the man. "I don't believe it."

"That wily bastard. I should've known!" The Sniper replied, slowly reaching for his bow.

Illuminated by the clear, starry sky, the Spy's blue suit was unmistakeable. The French agent smirked derisively at the shocked RED team. "Ah, monsieurs." He cried, sweeping the air theatrically with his left hand. "We meet again." The BLU Spy opened fire.


	7. Escape Part 2

_I'd like to take a moment to apologize for the lack of asterisks/ line breaks in my last chapter. For some reason, when I upload my stories it removes all paragraph breaks, and I usually put them in manually after uploading my chapter, but my alterations apparently didn't save before I put the last one up, hence bouncing from scene to scene with absolutely no warning.  
_

"Your white flag can't stop American bullets, you snail-eating coward!" The Soldier cried, firing his shotgun into the darkness. Beside him, the BLU Spy crouched, trying to make himself as small a target as possible. They were in the Intel room, and the grey Spy – whom the BLU Spy immediately recognized as a Spectre agent – had just killed the lights. All three combatants were blind, except for what they could briefly see from the muzzle flashes.

The grey Spy fired again, lighting up the room, and the BLU Spy took everything he could from that instant of illumination. He saw the Soldier, who was now crouched behind the Intel desk, peering over it cautiously. The Spectre saboteur was across the room, in a shooter's stance with his revolver in both hands. His bullet had gone harmlessly into the side of the desk.

The BLU Spy circled the room, keeping completely quiet, but at the same time moving as quickly as possible. The other Spy seemed to know that he was unarmed, and the BLU agent hoped that this mysterious foe would underestimate him.

The grey Spy fired a second shot into the desk, and the Soldier retorted with a shotgun blast, which missed completely. The Soldier obviously didn't have the same eye for details that both Spies had, since he seemed to be completely guessing where his enemy was.

The BLU Spy was at the Spectre Spy's right side, creeping toward him. The grey Spy fired again, and in this muzzle light, the mysterious man finally realized the danger he had put himself in. The BLU Spy leapt at him. Grey swung his revolver, trying to bring it to bear on BLU, but he was too late. The BLU Spy grabbed Grey's wrist, and twisted it. The revolver fell to the floor.

The Spectre agent pulled his butterfly knife from his pocket, quickly unfolding it with his right hand. At the same time, he swung the Intel briefcase that was attached to his left hand. The BLU Spy couldn't anticipate this attack in the darkness, and the metal briefcase hit him in the head. He stumbled backward, but quickly regained his balance.

"Soldier!" He shouted, "Shoot your gun, damn you!"

The shotgun fired, the room lit up with the flash, and the BLU Spy saw the butterfly blade coming at his face just in time. He leaned back, hearing the blade whistle past his nose, and then raised his right arm in anticipation of the reverse swing. Sure enough, the Spectre Saboteur tried to swing the knife the other way. The BLU Spy grabbed his arm, surprising him, and then twisted it. The Soldier fired again.

In the light, the BLU Spy could see the grey Spy on his knees, his arm twisted painfully behind him. The BLU Spy had the Spectre agent at his mercy. The Spy also saw the Soldier, now standing on the desk, his head still scanning the room, trying to find the two.

The BLU Spy kicked his counterpart onto his back. The Soldier fired again, and in that light the BLU Spy saw the butterfly knife, lying abandoned on the ground nearby. He swooped down, grabbed it, and then jumped on the grey Spy.

"Reloading!" The Soldier cried.

"Perfect," The BLU Spy practically mouthed, grabbing the grey Spy's left arm – his Intel arm – and proceeding to saw through his wrist with the knife. The BLU Spy gritted his teeth as he did so – he managed to avoid the bone, but all of the muscle tissue was hard to cut through with such a small weapon, and he didn't have much time. He could feel the blood gushing onto his hands, his arms, and even his face. The grey Spy was screaming.

The BLU Spy felt the knife go through the hand, and he ceased his attack, depositing the knife in his bloody, ruined jacket, and reaching for the revolver. He also grabbed the freed briefcase, and – in a brief moment of inspiration – plucked the grey Spy's cloaking watch from his severed wrist. Finally, he rose to his feet.

"What's going on?" The Soldier demanded. "Spy – you alive?"

The BLU Spy aimed his revolver at the area where the American's head would be, and then hesitated. _No_, he thought to himself, _this man will be much more use to me injured_. He lowered the revolver, and fired. In the muzzle flash, he was pleased to see a spurt of blood shooting from the RED Soldier's leg. The grey Spy's sobs and grunts of pain were drowned out by the RED Soldier's surprised scream.

"I'll let you keep your disguise kit," The BLU Spy muttered to his grey counterpart, "and if you want to survive the night, I would suggest you use it. They'll be coming to investigate soon." That being said, the BLU Spy pressed a button on his new watch, and disappeared.

**

Everything had been going perfectly. The REDs had been trapped in the basement, with the elevators disabled, and nearly half their team wounded. The BLU Spy didn't expect them to survive the horde that he had released from Spectre's catacombs.

The helicopter blades were turning, gaining velocity with each passing second, and yet the BLU Spy knew that it would need at least another minute. With the five REDs emerging from inside Spectre, that was a minute that he no longer had.

As far as he could tell, only one of the five REDs was carrying a long range weapon, and that was the Sniper. The bow was slung over his shoulder, however, and he wouldn't be able to get it out in time. The Medic and Scout both held lethal melee weapons, and the Demoman was reaching for a bottle in his belt. That left the RED Pyro – or rather the grey Spy – it made the BLU Spy smirk to think that the Spectre agent had chosen to disguise as the one RED mercenary who didn't survive the crash, and the imbeciles _still_ took him in as one of their own.

The Spy fired his revolver at the nearest target – the Demoman – noticing the Spy-Pyro reaching into his belt for his imaginary flare gun as he did so. The Demoman stumbled back with a cry, holding his gut where the bullet hit him. The Spy-Pyro pulled his fake flare gun out of his belt with his left hand, while the BLU Spy turned his revolver on the Sniper, who was trying to free his bow.

The BLU Spy pulled the hammer back on his revolver, preparing to pull the trigger, and that's when he realized his fatal mistake. _The Pyro still had his left hand!_ The Spy desperately swung the gun toward the Pyro, pulling the trigger. It was too late, however; the Pyro's flare shot across the landing pad, and the Spy felt a powerful punching force on his shoulder. Then the burning started.

"Fire, fire, fire!" The BLU Spy cried. The Sniper watched as the man cloaked, disappearing into thin air and leaving just a flaming silhouette. A moment later, the BLU Spy tore his flaming jacket off of himself, and was completely invisible.

"Bullocks!" The Sniper cursed, firing an arrow blindly into the area where the Spy had disappeared. As he expected, the shot was a miss. The Sniper turned to his comrades.

The Scout was standing nearby, his fists clenched anxiously around the haft of his bat, staring at the Sniper for leadership. The Demoman was lying on the ground, holding his stomach. A few steps away, the Pyro was also on the ground. The Spy's revolver shot had apparently gotten him – he had a bullet hole in his chest. The Medic moved to check the man.

"No!" The Sniper ordered. "Not him, check the Demo! He's our pilot!"

The Medic nodded, and moved to the Demoman.

"Nay, I'm okay, lad!" The Demo replied, letting the Medic help him to his feet. "The bloke didn't get through my vest!" He gestured to his flak jacket, which had taken a glancing shot from the bullet right over the place where his kidney was located.

The Medic looked over at the downed Pyro, and hurried over to him. He put a hand on the man's mask, and tried to yank it off. He couldn't remove it, however. Unable to check the man's status, the frustrated Medic rose to his feet again.

"Doc! Come on, man!" The Scout cried. The doctor rose to his feet, and saw that the Demoman was getting into the cockpit of the helicopter. The Scout was leaning out of the back helicopter door, waving his hand wildly. The Sniper was nearby, his back to the helicopter, his bowstring taut, looking for the Spy.

The Medic waved his hands in front of the Pyro's face one more time, and got no reaction. He ran toward the helicopter.

He saw movement behind the helicopter, and slowed, squinting past the lights of the large aircraft to try to make out the forms.

"Sniper!" He cried, alerting the Aussie. The marksman turned as well, squinting into the darkness, at the numerous squirming forms that were climbing the fence.

"Bloody hell! Get inside!" The Sniper shouted to the Medic, firing an arrow into the mass. One of the forms crumpled off the fence. The Medic closed the distance to the helicopter, which lifted slightly off the ground. The Scout grabbed the Medic's hand, and pulled him in.

The Sniper fired one more arrow, and then tossed the bow into the helicopter. He turned his back on the zombies, and reached up to grab the Medic's hand.

A gunshot echoed across the landing pad, and the Sniper heard a metallic _ting_ beside his head, as a revolver bullet struck the metal plating of the sliding helicopter door. The Scout pressed himself against the nearest wall, trying to make himself as small a target as possible. The Medic, startled, lost his grip on the Sniper, who fell on his back on the ground.

The Sniper clambered to his feet, glancing back over his shoulder as he did so. The Spy was running across the pavement, his dirty white shirt making him stand out starkly against the dark night. The Spy had his gun raised. He fired a second shot, and the Sniper ducked his head. The bullet _ping_ed off the floor between the Medic's feet.

"Grab my hand!" The Medic cried.

"The stupid bugger's right out in the open. I've finally got him!" The Sniper shouted back. "Throw me my bow!"

At that moment, however, the entire area behind the Spy lit up in a bright, fiery explosion. The Sniper watched as the Spy stumbled, and fell to the ground. Behind him, all of the charging Infected disappeared in a blazing inferno. The Sniper saw a flaming red barrel rolling out of the flames. A second later, the barrel exploded.

"Shit!" The Sniper cursed, looking around for the source of the explosions. It didn't take him long to find it. "I don't bloody believe it!"

The Pyro was standing on his feet again. There was another red, explosive barrel lying on its side, at his feet.

"Pyro!" The Sniper shouted. "Get in the chopper!"

The Pyro cried something unintelligible, and then kicked the barrel toward the helicopter. It rolled slowly at first, but then the Pyro pulled the trigger on his flamethrower, and a blast of compressed gas hit the barrel. The Sniper's eyes widened. "No..."

The barrel seemed to fly in slow motion, bouncing off the pavement in front of the chopper, denting the barrel and dangerously pressurizing its contents. The Sniper ducked his head, covering his neck in the fetal position as the barrel flew through the air, right at the cockpit of the hovering helicopter. The Demoman started to scream, and the Scout tried to leap out of the flying machine. He had something slung to his bare back, which the Sniper recognized as the Intelligence.

The barrel hit, and the Sniper was suddenly deafened by the explosion. He saw the Spy, just a few steps away, screaming as the flames licked outward in all directions, and then the Sniper was blinded. Searing hot flame flew past his face, striking everywhere on his body. He felt his hat fly off his head, and then he was blinded by the white light. The compression of the explosion struck him next, sending him rolling painfully across the searing hot asphalt. He struck his head on the pavement, and was knocked unconscious.

*

The flaming, twisted metal shell that was once their salvation crashed to the ground, its blades bent, its sides blackened. Nearby, the Pyro was cheering, hefting his flamethrower up over his head. The insane man looked around at the fire that surrounded them. The entire night was lit up by the flames – the fire that had destroyed the Infected horde had reached the trees, and now the jungle was burning.

The Scout lifted his head, shakily. He could see two bodies near the helicopter – the Sniper and the Spy. Neither of them moved. The Scout tentatively tested his legs, expecting one or both of them to be broken. To his surprise, however, he found that they were completely fine, albeit badly scratched and scraped, and reddened from first-degree burns. The Scout sat up, looking around. He had lost his bat, and it was nowhere in sight. He could see the Intelligence briefcase, however, glimmering in the light of the fires. It was lying on the pavement nearby.

The Scout rose to his feet, his hand reaching up to finger the dog tags around his neck. His head darted around, searching for any signs of danger. How could everything have gone bad so fast? They were practically free!

The Scout looked over and saw the Pyro, the man who had betrayed them, staring at him. The fire reflected in the goggles of the man's mask, making them appear to glow demonically. The Pyro pointed at the Scout, and then at the burning helicopter, and finally the burning trees, and cheered again – he was completely insane. The Scout suddenly felt a terrified chill. He turned and bolted toward the woods, stopping only to grab the Intelligence briefcase. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him, crawling through a tear in the fence and cutting his chest in the process, never looking back, consumed by panic and fear. Only the Pyro's muffled laughter chased after him as he ducked through burning trees, leaped over roots, and was then consumed by the forest, disappearing from human eyes.

_God help me._

*  


"Ugh!" The Sniper groaned. Every part of his body was in extreme pain. He could feel burns all over his body. He reached his hand up to his chest – the heat had burned most of his clothes right off him – and felt charred skin under his fingers. Even the familiar BLU scar – courtesy of the Spy – was scorched off. The Sniper let in a wheezing breath as he rolled onto his back, and tried to curl his body into a sitting position.

"Now you know my pain," A raspy, wheezing voice muttered. "In time, you will learn to embrace the fire as I did."

"Pyro?" The Sniper looked up in the direction of the sound, but saw only white. He was completely blind. "Pyro, is that you?"

The Sniper heard something hit the ground beside his head, and reached out to touch it. He could feel the contours of the Pyro's gas mask. He lifted it up, and held it to his chest. "What the hell happened to you?" The Sniper demanded, through wheezing breaths of his own. "You've doomed us all!"

"The fire," The Pyro replied. "We've pleased it."

"What? You're bloody insane!"

"Your sacrifice... it won't go unrewarded." The Pyro hacked, wracking coughs which made the Sniper cringe to hear. "The fire will spread across this island like a flood, cleansing it of its..." (cough) "... impurities. Let the fire cleanse you." Despite the wheezing, which sounded painful to utter, the Pyro spoke softly, and slowly. To the Sniper, he sounded completely calm, like he was in a place of Zen. He couldn't make out the man's accent.

"I am going to strip naked, and dance in the flames."

The Sniper let out a sob at this. "You stupid fucking wanker! Why couldn't you just let the rest of us go, and play out your manic death fantasies on your own?"

"I'm a giving man, Marksman." The Pyro replied. The Sniper felt something jab his shoulder, and realized that the Pyro was putting his flamethrower against the Aussie's skin. "I will let the fire carry you into the Afterlife, just as it's carried so many before you. You're a good man – you will enjoy the Other Side."

"You've always been batty," The Sniper gasped. "What was it, exactly, that pushed you over the edge? That bullet you took to the chest? Or was it the crash itself?"

"Goodbye, Sniper." The Pyro replied. "It's been a pleasure working with you all these years, and I look forward to seeing you on the Other-"

_Crack!_

The Pyro's voice was cut off by a revolver shot, and the Sniper heard his body strike the ground nearby.

"Burn in hell!" The Spy gasped, from somewhere to the Sniper's left.

"Is he dead?" The Sniper asked. The Aussie could hear the Frenchman dragging himself closer.

"It was a headshot, this time. He's not getting up again."

"How are you, mate? Can you walk?"

The Spy laughed bitterly. "If you could see me, Sniper..."

"How do I look?"

That just made the Spy laugh even harder. The BLU agent was close now. The Sniper could reach out and touch him. The RED marksman reached slowly with one hand, wrapping it around the handle of his kukri, which was still strapped to his back, the leather strap having survived the explosion that incinerated his clothes.

"You're going to kill me?" The Spy asked. The Sniper pulled the blade half out of its sheath. "We'll see, wanker." The crackling flames drowned out all surrounding sounds and the Sniper imagined more zombies creeping up on them as they spoke. He doubted he could still defend himself, even against just one of them.

The pair was silent for a minute, and then the Spy said, "Your Scout took the Intel and ran into the flaming jungle – that stupid boy probably just incinerated the very object that both of our teams died for."

"We should've just run, as soon as the first signs of danger appeared." The Sniper wheezed. "Why did I let the Soldier talk me into hanging around for that Intel?"

"You were never leaving this island, Aussie." The Spy replied. "It wasn't in my plans. You were all dead men from the moment you ran into me."

The Sniper tried to snort at this, but only ended up sending an agonizing flare of pain through his nostrils that caused him to gasp.

"Even if something happened to me," The Spy continued, "your superiors wouldn't have ever looked inside that Intel briefcase."

"What makes you say that?" The Sniper asked.

"It's set to self-destruct without the code."

"We had the code," The Sniper rasped. "Soldier and I were both trusted with it."

"This is why you ran into trouble, Aussie. Your entire team is just so damn _naive_. You really think I wouldn't have changed the combination as soon as I got possession of that briefcase?"

"So you're saying..."

"I'm saying that the only thing the REDs would have gotten from that Intel was a fiery death." The Spy coughed. "Not that it matters now, I guess. Cigarette?"

"No,"

"You and I aren't so different, Sniper." The Spy said, and the marksman heard the man light up a cigarette. "You sure you don't want one? I don't plan on being alive long enough to smoke both of them."

Although the last thing the Sniper wanted in his lungs was more smoke, he relented, and nodded. He felt the cigarette being placed between his lips, and heard the Spy light it. Then he was inhaling the familiar tobacco. He had kicked the habit years ago, after Melbourne drug runners managed to trace the smell of it into his hideout, and almost captured him. It reminded him of his home, and his family.

"We're both hunters," The Spy continued. "We're assassins, rogues, and freelance agents. Like me, you have no loyalty to your team colours. Every kill is just another paycheque and, as soon as you find better work, you would move on to the next employer."

"I'm nothing like you," The Sniper snarled, although his heart sank as he listened to his career being perfectly summarized.

"You started as a big game hunter, but that just wasn't enough, Sniper. Like me, you wanted _more._ It's the power, isn't it? That rush that you get when your target is in your sights; that feeling of superiority!"

"Shut up!"

"You try to give off an air of warmth and old-fashioned Outback hospitality, but you're just as cold and calculating as I am. My biggest mistake was in misjudging your instinct to survive. I didn't expect you to be so quick in leaving the Soldier behind on his leg."

"He volunteered," The Sniper wheezed.

"Did the Engineer volunteer?"

The Sniper pressed the kukri against the Spy's throat. "One more word, wanker."

The Sniper felt the Spy's cold gun barrel press against his cheek. "Do it, Sniper. Save me from becoming one of them."

The Sniper ran the tip of the kukri blade gently downward, slowly cutting the buttons along the Spy's shirt and pushing it open, resting the blade on the man's bare chest. "I've been waiting for this for a long time, mate."

"Then I bid you _adieu_, you bush-whacking coward."

"Goodbye, you shadow-dwelling snake."

Drawing from his last reserves of strength, the Sniper rammed the kukri blade into the Spy's chest with all his might. The BLU Spy cried out, pulling the trigger of his revolver. The Sniper never even heard the gunshot.

The RED marksman slumped to the warm pavement, blood dribbling out from a hole in his head. The BLU Spy let out a pained groan, looking down at the bloody blade that protruded from his bare chest, and then fell down beside him.

*

The fire was still burning behind him. It was beside him. The fire was even burning in his lungs. Tony's eyes watered and he was exhausted, yet still he ran. The night sky was growing lighter with the coming of dawn, and yet he ran. Branches pounded against his chest and arms, and the Intel bouncing off of his side was leaving a dark bruise. He imagined the Pyro behind him, though, chasing him with the fire that had killed his team and sealed his own fate.

He heard the unmistakeable sound of helicopter blades – faint, but quickly growing louder. He looked up, and saw a black form flying over the treetops, heading in a direction just to the right of Tony's path. Tony changed his course, chasing in the direction of the helicopter. After a few minutes, he could hear the lapping of waves. In a matter of seconds he burst through the canopy of trees, and found himself on the beach again. He was shocked to see two helicopters already landed on the sand. At least ten men in grey uniforms, all of them holding rifles, surrounded the Scout. Tony raised his hands over his head. "Woah, man, don't shoot! I'm clean, I'm clean!"

Two men grabbed Tony's shoulders, and forced him to his knees. He was quickly handcuffed, and they took the Intel from him. A man in a suit walked up to him. "Who are you?" He demanded, in an American accent. "Are you with Spectre?"

Tony thought about his teammates, lying dead in the base. His shirt had been torn off, and he had been stripped of anything to identify his affiliation with RED. He nodded. "Y-yeah. Yeah, I'm with Spectre."

"Get him in the chopper!" The man ordered. "The Intel, too." To another uniformed man, the suited man said "Call the boss. Tell her we got it back!"

"Yes, Dr. Wesker!"

Tony was led into a helicopter, cuffed, and then it took off. The helicopter had no windows, and he lost track of time as he sat on an uncomfortable chair, and stared at the men around him. They all wore grey. The Spectre logo was painted on the inside of the helicopter.

"We're going to have to do a check on you, as soon as we get back." Wesker told Tony. "That includes a full physical and medical tests, to make sure you aren't... you know."

"Then what happens?"

Wesker shrugged. "We got what we want. If you're clean, you go free."

Tony sighed in relief, and then leaned his head back against the side of the helicopter.

"Well? Should we open it?" One of the guards asked Wesker, staring at the briefcase on the table. "You know, make sure everything is in order?"

"Good plan," The suited man replied. "The Boss would be livid if we had forgotten anything!" He looked over at Tony. "It's a good thing you didn't attempt this, boy." He said. "It's set to self-destruct if the wrong code is put in."

"Maybe you should wait, then." Tony replied. He'd had enough explosions for one day.

"Please," The suited man scoffed. "I am a main shareholder of Spectre Biologics. I have every code in the company!" The man turned the knobs on the briefcase, putting in the combination. Tony leaned forward, despite himself, anxious to see what all of his teammates had just died for. Wesker put in the last number, and they heard an audible click. The briefcase popped open, the faces of all the men lit up, and then everything was obscured in a blinding white.

*

"_Is he alive?"_ A voice asked, right above Tony's head.

_"He is breathing, dumkopf._" The unmistakeable voice of the Medic replied. "Of course he is alive. Ze question is whether or not he is going to wake up."

The other man huffed. "Well, what are we to do now?" It was the Engineer. Tony opened one heavy eyelid the tiniest bit, and was immediately overloaded with blinding images. He opened the other eye, squinting in the bright light. His head was pounding, and his ears were ringing.

He was outside, that much was certain. He could feel sand beneath him; he was lying on the ground, perhaps on a beach. Waves lapped against the shore. However, there were no sounds of wildlife – no seagulls, no animals, nothing.

"Was it a dream?" Tony muttered, reaching up to feel his body. His shirt was still gone, and he felt his back. No, the scars were still there from the Witch attack.

Yet there they were – the Engineer and the Medic. They weren't knelt over him, however. They were knelt over the blackened corpse of a man who looked to be Wesker. Behind them, the Scout could see burnt, smoking palm trees.

_"Well, what are we to do now?"_

Tony rose to a seated position, looking around. Bodies littered the shores.

"_In ze medical profession, zhere is no room for compassion_."

The Engineer straightened up. His back was to Tony, but the boy still noticed his one robotic hand. The index finger on it was twitching spasmodically back and forth, unnaturally fast. Mechanical failure.

"_On the night that you go to see my family, I want you to raze those crops to the ground. The barn, too. Everything but the house._"

Tony suddenly realized that the two men weren't speaking – the voices were all in his head, memories from the past. He took another look at the Medic, whose face was visible from this angle. The man's singed lab coat was completely bloodstained, and Tony realized that he wasn't inspecting the suited man's body. _He was eating it_.

Tony jumped to his feet, and suddenly felt his leg give out from under him, broken from the crash. He screamed as he collapsed back down on it, and that's when the Engineer turned around. Dead eyes fell upon the Scout. The Engineer snarled, blood running from his lips and dripping onto his blue overalls. The Scout saw holes from the Soldier's shotgun shot on the Texan's chest. The Engineer's human, flesh-and-bone hand clenched and unclenched. His metal finger kept tapping. Tony's heart pounded in his chest, and he resisted the urge to vomit. _He had been so close_.

"_I'm scared, Tony." Lola practically whimpered. She was on her knees on the bed, beside him. She was naked, with the blankets wrapped modestly around her._

"_Don't be, doll." Tony replied. "I told you, it's just a courier job!"_

_He had been telling her that it was "just a courier job" for six months now. He knew that she wasn't buying it; he'd come home with scars before, and she had once gotten hold of his aluminum bat – he had failed to wash all of the blood off of it._

"_I know that you're a good man, Tony. I don't want you to kill anymore. I don't want you to put yourself in any more danger."_

"_It's just a bunch of rednecks!" Tony exclaimed. "I got attacked by a pit bull in a trailer park last week!" He gestured to a gash on his arm, which had actually been an extremely narrow kukri dodge. The BLU Sniper who had inflicted the damage was now lying at the bottom of the Well, his face blown clean off by the Scattergun._

"_Make this your last job, Tony." Lola kissed his hand. "Please?" She fingered the dog tags on his neck, war souvenirs from his Dad. She kissed them. "When you're back out there, putting yourself in dangerous situations, I want you to think of me."_

_Tony pulled the dog tags away from her, reading the inscription on them. __Cpl. Joe Balducci. His father, who had died on the shores of Normandy._

"_You aren't your pop, Tony. You're a lover, not a fighter, no matter what your friends try to tell you!"_

_Tony kissed her, pulling her closely to him. He could smell her hair; he breathed it in deep._

_When they finally broke the kiss, Lola lay down beside him._

"_When I get back, I'll have enough money to start fresh!" Tony said. "And this time, we're gonna start off right! We ain't kids no more. I'm giving you a house – you deserve better than this seedy apartment!"_

"_Just come home safe, kay?" Lola replied, hugging him. "That's all I want."_

"_I will, doll."_

"_Promise me."_

"_I promise."_

"_I love you, Tony."_

"_I love you too, Lola."_

Tony looked down at the dog tags again, pretending he could still see the lipstick stains on them. The Engineer was growling. The Medic was growling. For some reason, images of the dying Scout in the downed BLU plane came to Tony. The boy had been a spitting image of Tony, in almost every conceivable way. Same age, same accent, similar facial features... and now they were going to die the exact same way. Tony closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, regaining his composure. He wasn't dying a victim, like the BLU Scout.

"Come on, you stupid undead bastards! I'm a force o' nature! I'm un-freakin'-touchable!"

Both of his reanimated teammates charged toward him. Tony looked around desperately.

He saw the body of one of Wesker's guards lying nearby, and crawled toward it, pulling a pistol out of the dead man's belt.

The Medic dove onto the wounded boy. Tony swung his fist, knocking the Medic off of him. The Engineer was on him next. Tony felt metal fingers puncturing his skin, and he beat on the Engineer's shoulders with his fists. "Get off me, hardhat!" He kicked with his good leg, and the Engineer rolled off, but not before slicing a gash into Tony's side with his metal hand. The Medic was on him again, and Tony grabbed the man's throat with his left hand, keeping the slavering jaws off. With his right hand, he brought the pistol up under the German's chin.

"Ya want this?" The Scout screamed. "I... hate... doctors!" He pulled the trigger, and the Medic's brains shot out through the back of his skull.

The Engineer dove on him again, and he felt teeth crushing his shoulder. Lola's face appeared in Tony's vision one final time, and then everything was obscured by the pain.


End file.
